The Pawn
by Annu123
Summary: A darker KotOR-based story, getting increasingly AU as it goes. What if Revan's mindwipe did not work out as planned? - A certain soldier finds himself in the core of a galaxy-spanning war. But slowly, the shell encasing Darth Revan starts to crack...and eventually, what seems to be a pawn might, in fact, be the puppeteer.
1. Musings of a Patient

Disclaimer: Star Wars or KOTOR still do not belong to me. I own nothing (except my laptop).

A/N: All you need to know is that I am not a native speaker and I have never, ever tried to write fiction in English before this, so you must forgive me if I seem clumsy at times. :) Please, leave a review - these are much appreciated!

**Summary (contains mild spoilers - skip if you wish):**

Since this is going to be a very long work, I've now decided to add a more detailed summary here. So: there are not that many darker KotOR fics, but this is one of them.

What if Revan's mindwipe did not go as planned and Revan slowly started to regain his memories? What if there actually was Darth Revan - the puppeteer - breaking through the shell? Darth Revan, who is not seeing redemption as a possibility since he had far too important reasons behind his actions. Can even a young, determined Jedi Padawan - with whom he is sharing a Force bond - impact him...or will she be the one to succumb?

How would all of this have affected the KotOR storyline...and the whole galaxy?

Darkening Revan, eventual DSM Revan/Bastila.

This is an AU fic and not a novelization of the game (although the beginning draws some heavy inspiration from there).

**End of summary/spoilers**

**W****arning**: Rated T for darker themes, violence in later chapters, coarse language and mild adult themes.

* * *

><p><strong>The <strong>**Pawn**

by Annu

**Chapter 1. Musings of a Patient**

Before all else, it began in darkness.

My life – whatever it had been – had gone through quite a change. This was all I could faintly fathom when I had woken a certain night in the Dantooine Jedi Enclave, my body battered and barely alive.

Left with only remnants of my memories.

My first memory and the first perception of my cloudy eyes were a small dark room and the shadows of medical tubes surrounding me. I could faintly hear the silent beeping of medical equipment somewhere in the background. Although the bed was soft, it soothed the pain in my body just barely. The pain became more obvious when it filled my consciousness and pushed away any thoughts. I closed my eyes and wished to be redeemed by sleep again. I wanted to wake up at another better time, or to not awaken at all. What had happened to me did not cross my mind the slightest. Nor could it interest me less. Now, within this moment, were only this room, this bed and this pain. My body, packed full of drugs, obeyed readily my mind's command to sleep.

And I slept.

My second memory was a Jedi healer. A Twi'lek woman named Zaza, as I was to learn later. Her slightly aged face, her green skin and her extremely compassionate eyes, which were drilled into my face the moment I regained consciousness. This time the room was bright. Almost too bright, as the light hurt my eyes and encouraged the pain in my neck and head to flare up into angry jolts. It felt like my brain was impaled by a spike, which penetrated deeper and deeper into by head; pushed by the force of each throb, slashing my brain into worthless pulp.

"Wha…" I tried to ask, but the voice came out as an inhuman gurgle. My tongue, handicapped by the dryness of my mouth, refused to operate. Fear started to build inside me. Instinctively I tried to stand up but received no answer from the muscles which should have moved my body. My feet and hands stayed on the bed as if they were glued onto it. The pain, the inability to move and the absolutely unfamiliar environment started to raise my mind into unwelcome panic.

_Pathetic._

"Hush," Zaza soothed and pushed gently a glass filled with water to my lips, enabling me to erase a tiny bit of the dryness lingering inside my mouth.

"Do not move. You are gravely injured and you must let your body rest. We have tied you to your bed, but only to protect you."

Zaza's calmly spoken words settled my mind a little, although something inside me shrieked in anger.

"Do you remember what has happened?" Zaza asked quietly, forming every word in her mouth with extreme care. The exactly same way as someone suffering from limited understanding is addressed. Like a child. I tried to force memories from my head, but bumped into emptiness. I certainly did not know where I was. Nor did I have a faintest memory of the occurrences which had led me into this bed. Undeniably, the awakening felt a lot worse than the next morning after a night full of Tihaar. Following a moment of drastic digging into the interiors of my head, I had to acknowledge my defeat and submit to the fact that something obviously was missing.

"No," I managed to answer with a raspy voice which had regained some of its strength back after the water had moistened my throat - though the sound still sounded like weak croaking at the best. Now my eyes had started to get accustomed with the bright lighting, and I managed to distinguish a few fuzzy humanoid-looking shapes behind Zaza. They were observing the discussion but showed no intention to take part. Zaza's eyes did not leave my face when she handed the glass to my lips again. Fresh water tasted good, refreshing. I suspected something pain-relieving had been mixed into the liquid because the pounding inside my head seemed to wear off, giving some space to thoughts.

"Be at peace. You'll hear everything soon enough," she continued. "Do you remember your name?" she asked. I searched my head again and was slightly relieved to find an answer to at least this question.

"Ensign Eldran Daraz, the Republic Navy," I answered semi-automatically with a routine which made Zaza first wince, but then a small smile spread to her lips and she nodded approvingly. Within the outer range of my vision I could see the others in the room softly leaving, without making a sound. Jedi – already at this point I was completely certain.

The events which had led me into this bed had completely vanished from my mind. Luckily, Zaza seemed to hold all the relevant answers and she was more than eager to give them to me. Extremely unluckily, her way of speech was something one usually hears in the near vicinity of small children. Sometimes it felt rather tiresome – my short term memory was faulted, not my intelligence – but by being tolerant, I received some of the much desired information.

Zaza softly explained that I had been on one of my first missions in Dantooine. The mission had been quite simple: I and a few other soldiers were supposed to secure the area from a group of Mandalorian raiders which had settled to the countryside after the Mandalorian Wars. However, everything had gone completely, utterly wrong. Our patrol had ended up in a Mandalorian orchestrated ambush, and because of a sudden twist in the Force only I had survived, although just barely.

A local farmer had stumbled over my body and had carried my mangled corpse to the Jedi Enclave, thinking only the Jedi had the skill to keep me alive. I had been unconscious for a couple of weeks, had floated in a kolto tank for a few days and they had operated my spine and skull a numerous of times. I had to be kept in a medical induced coma in order to let the injury in my head to heal to a point where it was secure enough for me to wake up.

Now that the effects of the drugs in my body were melting away and my consciousness had pushed through the coma, I still had the unpleasant fate of resting in this particular bed for a long time before I would be allowed even to sit up. The bindings had been a precaution which were put in place just to ensure I would not be too spontaneous to move.

_Great, bloody great._

But now I was safe, healing steadily and the Jedi believed I would fully recover from my injuries. At least physically – if I sticked strictly to her instructions. My mental recovery, the possibility of regaining my lost memories, was a completely different story. According to Zaza, after a horrendous accident like mine, it was typical for a human mind to block certain memories away. For some mystical reason, a mind had a tendency to leave only empty spaces there where traumatizing events should have been. It was no surprise as my head had been quite a mess: my skull had been literally open and the healer had put there a metal plate in there to close the gaping hole.

"The events might return later," Zaza had comforted with all her Jedi-like empathy. I didn't care.

Memories of the destruction of my squad were the kind I knew I wouldn't miss. I knew I would not mourn if these kinds of recollections had entirely disappeared from my mind and would never return. I was silently thankful to this unnamed farmer and the Jedi. Because of them, I was still alive and breathing, and it was all that mattered to me. The instinct of survival was my instinct. I did not feel a slightest bit of sadness for my lost comrades. Why would I? They were just a bunch of names without even a trace of a face left in my mind.

The healer removed my bindings in return, but only when I had first promised to follow her instructions carefully and stay obediently in my bed as long as she thought was needed. This eased me slightly. Because now when I could carefully raise my hand and twiddle with my bed covers with my fingers, I knew my body was at least somewhat functional. My head was something which did worry me. Somehow I acknowledged my memory loss did not end to the Mandalorian attack, but I decided to toss these thoughts aside and focus on the essential: to get myself moving and out of the bed again. During this time, some lost memories did not seem like a large loss.

It took days for me to understand the extent of what was missing.

Ever since I had fully regained consciousness, Zaza was a daily, but not unpleasant visitor. Every single day she visited me to check my progress and to converse with me. Very soon I started to look forward to her visits. Mainly because in addition to her, my only visitor was a conversationally dysfunctional service droid which's only function seemed to be to provide my daily meals. Soon it started to occur to me that my memory loss seemed to be the largest concern for Zaza although she did not think it was medically alarming. This seemed to be somehow off the line. Maybe she just wanted to make sure my severe injuries and the events leading to those had not affected my psyche too much. Maybe she just felt empathy.

Usually our daily conversations started the same way. The first thing Zaza always asked was if I had regained anything from the past events. Every time I had to repeat the same answer as the previous day. That I remembered explosions and the smell of smoke and blood. And in addition, nothing really. I did not even remember my arrival to Dantooine, although the lightning-fast start of my military career and the following training camps were clear in my mind. In some level, at least.

The days in the bed gave me lots of time to spend buried within my thoughts and quite fast I started to notice the jigsaw puzzle of my head had many pieces missing. Just like the last few weeks had been completely wiped out, there were also holes in places they shouldn't be. Once I had told this to Zaza, the healer analyzed in her calm manner that some parts of the memory loss must have been caused by the injury to my head. She encouraged me to enjoy the memories I still had left. Although "pretty" was not the word to describe these, at least I still had something describing who I was. Something which defined my inner self, my person and my history. Zaza seemed to take great interest in my life, so I took my time in revealing pieces of my past to her. What else would have I done those days, my body almost literally tied to the bed? I talked and talked, and often she even wanted additional information to fulfil some occurrences she seemed to think I used too little words to describe.

I could faintly recollect my childhood in Deralia and my parents' death in the aftermath of a Mandalorian attack, when I was still a child. I could recall my escape among other refugees, my long road finally ending up as a street urchin in Nar Shaddaa. Years in the street had taught me all kinds of skills more or less shady - but the most importantly – the ability to survive.

Smuggling was not a chosen career but rather a way of life in Nar Shaddaa, the Smuggler's Moon. This profession was also where I had later found myself, first as an errand boy, and later steering my own ship between the stars. Illegal goods, spice; whatever was needed, that's what I smuggled. Only slavery was something I kept my hands out of. I couldn't call myself rich but the profession kept my ship fuelled, my stomach full and took me to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, to places I couldn't even image as a child. Until one day my career had ended to a Republic trap. This was around six months ago.

I was given two options: the prison, or to serve. My choice was more than obvious. The bane of the galaxy, the war, was my luck. The Republic was desperate to find new recruits to place ones who had fallen to the endless fleets of Darth Revan and the Sith. The Republic was desperate to end the war which had tormented the galaxy for years. Even not so law-abiding citizens as I were qualified to enlist, and because of this one choice I had become one of the loyal soldiers of the Republic Navy. Or, to be honest, at first my motivation took its power purely from the intention of saving my skin from penal servitude on some remote asteroid.

War has a tendency to change a man. At first, military career had seemed like a better option than living under the tyranny of the Sith. Then I had started to see myself as part of a large machine. A construct with only one function: to bring peace to the galaxy. My effort was a small droplet of work in the sea of the highest purpose. I would lie if I'd say in the end I hadn't been content with the new direction of my life.

Still, some parts of my life seemed detached. My memories were fuzzy and broken. Just like if my life had been torn to pieces and assembled crudely back together into a broken cloth which missed parts.

_Bloody worthless piece of a trash for a head. And my bloody bad luck for taking parts of my life from me. _During one bitter moment these swirling thoughts had formed into words in my mouth and I had thrown them into Zaza's face.

"There is no luck. There is just the Force," was her calm, steady answer. Whatever this Force of the Jedi's was, Zaza was certain there was a reason for why I was still alive. A purpose existed; a purpose because of which I had survived on the day which should have been my last.

_The Force ha__s to have a sense of humour. _I kept this thought silently to myself. If anything, Zaza had strict opinions about the Force and presumably would not tolerate sarcastic comments. At that moment I learned my first lesson about the Jedi's exceptional skills. Somehow Zaza had sensed my amusement, something I truly did not expect.

"Young one, you will see the truth behind my words. Ponder what I have told you," she replied and ended our discussions for the day.

These bedridden days gave me the first reasons to question my mental stability for the first time. Although Zaza's daily visits usually included uncomfortable medical procedures, a part of me strongly enjoyed her company. But then there were different moments. Dark moments. Moments I did not comprehend the slightest. A few times anger and bitterness flared inside me so strongly I truly did want to strike her dead to the chair she was sitting in. I did not understand these feelings. Not a single time she had insulted me. She had always treated me with respect and empathy. I had even started to acknowledge her as someone trusted, perhaps a friend. It was like my head held a different being, a demon which for some reason thirsted for her blood.

The unwanted, alien feelings always lingered inside my head for a short time. They lasted for maybe a second at the maximum, so perhaps she never noticed my forced smile and the sudden dangerous gleam in my eyes. Or she hid it well and reasoned the feelings as a part of surges of frustration which I sometimes showed momentarily, sarcasm and anger playing a well-known role in them. Familiar feelings returned always quickly. Sometimes even I had trouble noticing that a moment ago my head had held something quite the opposite. I was confused.

Although we conversed frequently about my life before my time as a soldier, there were some memories I did not want to share with Zaza. Some memories were as fresh as the previous day, although I could not attach them to any logical context. One of them was a memory of the eyes...

...Grey eyes, eyes of steel which stared straight at mine while my surroundings flashed and cracked, diminishing finally into total darkness. So dark no light could penetrate it. In this recollection, I felt hatred and I felt betrayed - although the eyes show no such feelings. A cocktail of inexplicable sensations.

Primarily, I thought Zaza would take me for one too fragile to ever let out of the bed so I left these unmentioned. If even I felt the memory was obscure and possibly insane, what would she have thought? I decided to be selectively honest towards her, keep these thoughts out of my mind while she was present and hope she would not sense this kind of a minor lie with her Jedi skills.

There was more.

In some other memories I stare the world through a computer-enhanced vision of a visor. These memories are filled with war, battles and death. My arms folded to my chest, I follow the death of a gigantic battle ship in a place which I can only call a command bridge of another of the same kind. Countless small lights and explosions shear through the ship while it sings its swan song. I feel triumphant; I can feel the rightness in my acts. Something inside me laughs victoriously.

I could not figure out any explanation for these memories, could not link them to any previous event in my life. So I pushed them to the back of my mind, reasoning they were a part of some strange holofilm I had seen previously. They must've been because Eldran the smuggler or even Eldran the soldier played no part. However, I could not block out a slight feeling of hesitation, flickering somewhere in my mind.

_...Good..._

...A thought with no source, rather a feeling, it was often there. It told me to question. But what? I decided to bury these memories and thoughts deeper inside my head and ponder them at a later moment. At least time was something I did not have a shortage of.


	2. A Patient or a Prisoner?

Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me.

Author's note: Thank you for the encouraging reviews and for some users for adding this story to your alerts. This really did inspire me to continue to work with this challenge. Any kinds of reviews are truly appreciated.

Thus, I present you:

**Chapter 2.**** A patient or… a prisoner?**

As the days passed by, my health steadily increased. And so did my frustration. The ceiling of my room held exactly thirty-six white-painted durasteel plates. I was certain, as I had counted them innumerable of times just to pass time, and then rechecked my calculations just to be certain. The seam between a certain two adjacent plates was wider and deeper than it should have been. So I had managed to spend a whopping three seconds by lamenting about the sloppy construction work. Seemed like the paint had even blistered a little? Something you would not imagine seeing in a Jedi Enclave.

White was the main colour of my surroundings. Walls were painted with a dull shade; the floor was glossier as were the scarce pieces of furnishing. Even my clothes and my bed covers followed the same trend. I could not help to wonder if the Jedi had some kind of a bizarre plan to drown my brains into all this whiteness in order to keep me from exhausting myself with any intellectual activity. The only window in my room, in size just a bit larger than a gizka, provided the only mild exception. However, it was located so high on the wall that I could barely catch a glimpse of the sky from my bed. And if I was extremely lucky, I could possibly distinguish a slowly gliding shape of one of the Brith - those flat flying creatures which were native to Dantooine.

To put it lightly, I was interested to see if pure boredom could kill a man.

My days were defined by the recurring cycle of four visits which were divided between Zaza and the silent service droid. Therefore it felt like the moment of the galactic victory when Zaza appeared to my room carrying a datapad and gave me a full permission to sit on my bed whenever I felt like it. In addition, the datapad provided me an access to the Jedi's data network. Although the access was strictly limited, at least I could finally get a touch of what was going on out in the galaxy.

It was obvious the galaxy lived a time of drastic changes. And somehow, I had succeeded in either sleeping through all those, or getting the information wiped out from my head. All holonews shouted only the same lines: the death of Darth Revan, the Dark Lord of the Sith. The masked Sith Lord had finally managed to get himself killed - good riddance. His apprentice, Darth Malak – the guy with some major jaw issues - had declared himself the new Dark Lord of the Sith. And yet again, the Jedi had been in the eye of the storm.

One single Jedi strike team had been able to penetrate Darth Revan's defences and infiltrated the Dark Lord's command ship; the almost-suicidal attack, which against all odds had ended in Revan's demise. According to rumours, only one Jedi had been still alive and present when the Dark Lord had drawn his last breath. These days, Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan - the leader of the strike team - was virtually the Republic's new poster girl; an epithet of the hope for victory.

_Quite a woman_, I had thought.

One might think that the death of the Dark Lord might have lent wings to the Republic to turn the tide of the war. One might have thought this one remarkable victory could have crumbled the Sith war effort enough for the Republic to drive them to where ever they had emerged from. However, newscasts were as depressing as ever.

It was more than obvious that the rampage of the Sith had not been seized, possibly not so much as decelerated. The wounded beast was infuriated and vengeful. Dozens of headlines told grim tales about lost battles, mourned for annihilated battle ships and their deceased crews, and whispered rumours pertaining seemingly endless enemy armadas. Even I, whilst not an expert of any warfare tactics aside from my short training, could make the conclusion things did not look too bright for the Republic.

The supposed slayer of Darth Revan was portrayed basically as the last line of defence. Bastila Shan was young, in her early twenties, and strikingly beautiful with her auburn hair, delicate form and large eyes. And, it was told, her command of the Force was deadly. If one would take everything the newscasts described by word, you would imagine her as one capable of manipulating the enemies' minds, and close to being able to make a Sith _Interdictor_-class destroyer to dive into the nearest star by just sheer willpower. To be honest, I was quite certain most of her remarkable talents were results of pure exaggeration; probably to prevent general defeatism from spreading. The war would ultimately be lost if there were no will to fight.

_If even half of that is true she is__ quite a woman, indeed. Too bad the Jedi women generally warm up to flirting equally as well as a she-krayt guarding her eggs_. I had laughed at that thought for a couple of minutes. Certainly, the Jedi Enclave was not a place for my tastes.

The datapad was also packed full of all kinds of Jedi guidelines and wisdoms. I strongly suspected the main reason for adding those was Zaza – the healer probably wanted me to dig deep into the files in hopes of my head absorbing some of that knowledge. Possibly, for a Jedi, a former smuggler was someone who needed some extra advice about virtuous ways of life. Being locked up in a few square meter sized white room with nothing more important to do was a good motivator, so I took my time in getting acquainted with also that information. If nothing else, I was curious.

In a few files I bumped into the Jedi code, their code of conduct, which summarized well the life philosophy of these extraordinary creatures:

_"There is no emotion, there is peace._

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

_There is no death, there is the Force."_

_Through victory, my chains are broken._ _The Force shall free me._ I flinched when the single thought emerged in my mind, like a lone star in the deep dark space. I had buried myself within the datapad for a lengthy time because the sky appearing through my window had turned pitch-black. I pressed the control by my bed, which turned the lights of the room instantly off, leaving me blind for a moment. The dark blur evolved into distinguishable shapes as my eyes were forced to adjust to the lack of lighting. And then I saw them.

The stars.

They dotted the night sky, letting their soothing light to cut holes into the darkness. Painting the dull black cloth with their unique playful patterns. Reminding me there is so much more in the universe than this room, this Enclave or this planet. I could no longer bear either to lie down or sit. I had to get out of this bloody bed.

Carefully, I let my legs descend to the floor and spent a moment feeling the coolness under my toes. I leant a part of my weight slowly on my legs, exploring their ability to carry the mass of my body. A spike of pain flared violently somewhere deep within my neck when I heaved my full body weight on my muscles. I had started to sweat. The window was no more than a single step away.

Finally I stood at my objective, physically shaking but triumphant, hands crossed to my chest the exact way they were in the strange memory. The night sky fully opened before my eyes and I could not think of a place where I desired more; to steer my ship between the stars. Still, at the moment, the stars were far.

Of course, I did not reveal to Zaza I had decided to start taking steps without her permission. But she found it out by herself quickly, as she stormed into my room during one of those moments when I had submerged myself in the scenery appearing through my window. The timing was actually all too perfect so I could not count out the possible interference of her Jedi skills. After the earned lecture, I was humbly back in my bed again, although just temporarily. The bed had absolutely become too small; a fact which I tended to express often during her visits.

Most likely my frequent bursts of frustration were finally too much for the gentle Jedi healer because eventually she granted me an access, reluctantly, to the nearby inner courtyard of the Enclave. Nonetheless, my outside-time was limited to the maximum of thirty minutes and I was not allowed to leave the room without an escort. I felt humiliated.

"I thought the Jedi do not torture their prisoners," I protested quietly to her back when she was leaving the room, believing I was out of her ears' range. Her movement ceased in the middle of a step.

"Young one," she started with a no-nonsense tone. "I believe you might still be too weak to exercise your body. Your emotions indicate your mind has been strongly shaken, and it might be wise for you to ponder your inner feelings for at least a week more without any interruptions."

I could not help but bark a laugh. The Jedi and a sense of humour were after all not an impossible equation. She had gifted me with a small smile when she had finally stepped out of the door, and later that day Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena had appeared in my room. My own personal prison warden.

Sandra was young, in her middle twenties, and a beautiful brand-new Knight. She was as over-zealous as a materialized Jedi code of conduit, which was the reason I suspected Zaza had picked her as my escort. Her task was to keep me in order and monitor I could not kill myself with too much exercise, and she was perfect for that. Born in Taris, and had received her training in none less than Coruscant before getting transferred to Dantooine. Her small, delicate features were encircled by a cloud of crimson, curly locks. Her character was as cold as the Deralian winter wind. If the circumstances had been different, I might have asked her out for a glass of wine.

On my first trip, I _almost_ made it to the courtyard when my fifteen minutes were up and Sandra strictly commanded me to turn back. All my muscles, pined away in bed, were finished, and my speed gave a realistic expectation of how it feels to be sixty years older. Not to mention the headache; this had cruelly returned to remind me about my half-functional brain. When I eventually managed to drag my aching body into the bed, I slept to the next afternoon without a single break.

Regardless of the rough start, the opportunity to get out of the room refreshed both my body and my mind. Day by day, my step grew longer and I started to regain my strength. After a few days I even had the opportunity to sit for a while on the bench which was located beside the great tree in the middle of the yard, sheltered by its branches. I was probably quite a sight; enjoying the day in my white sick-robes, a wide grin on my face, a slightly bored-looking Jedi Knight by my side. When I noticed that I collected sidelong glances from Jedi younglings, indeed I did understand why.

The mirror in my room had revealed something which a Kath-hound had first eaten and then vomited back out, after noticing it tasted disgusting. I was a couple of years short from thirty, but without knowing that I would have added twenty more to my age. The dark bags under my eyes created an interesting contrast with my pure white clothes. The right side of my face was still swollen and the gigantic bruise under my skin gave me amusingly misshapen features. Like I had taken a nap and rested my head against a freshly painted pale brown wall. _Even I would not recognize myself now, even if I was standing next to me. _

Zaza had given my new looks a finishing touch with a shaving which was surprisingly careless for a Jedi. Short and longer spots of stubble alternated on my cheeks. My head had been shaven bald prior to the operation. At least my hair was obediently growing back, although, with mild horror, I perceived a few white hairs which had decided to take root beside the fading scar, now covered in short hair. Under all that mess, I could recollect, was hidden a face some women had even deemed handsome.

I started to feel like a human again when I had gotten rid of the ticklish uneven bristle. For some reason, another one of the healer's curious principles: entrusting me with a razor had not been an easy matter. Finally, following numerous requests, she had given up when I had snapped sarcastically that I carried no intention of harming myself albeit I was bored. Even if my physical condition was far from healthy, at least shaving my kriffin' beard was something I could get through with success.

Zaza's strong tendency to act overly protective often felt odd to me. But possibly the empathic Jedi wanted to make sure my recovery was progressing as it should.

_She does not trust me. She sees a razor in my hand as a weapon; as a danger to herself and others. _Again, a lone cynical thought without a source appeared in my mind but I killed it right on the spot. The thought itself was so absurd I almost barked a laugh. Even if the Jedi healer did not trust me for some reason – and I knew no reason why she wouldn't – I was surrounded by, only the Force knew how many, lightsabers and warriors holding special skills. Even if I somehow lost the last bits of my sanity and went on some bizarre crusade with the razor as my only weapon, it would have been like trying to attack an army with a toothpick.

Why would any Jedi consider me, an ordinary soldier and not even a notable one, a danger? The injury must have damaged my brain more than I had suspected.

Unquestionably, having somebody constantly watching over my shoulder ate my patience; slowly but surely. My time outside the room was strictly restricted although the duration was slightly increased while my body healed. I was allowed to wander the hallways and the inner courtyard of the Enclave quite freely, but the council chambers and training rooms were off-limits. The massive durasteel doors to these rooms were extremely locked, as I had taken note when I had tried to gain entrance once when Sandra's eyes were fixed elsewhere. My warden always led me to my "cell" – as I had named my room - exactly on time by second even if I had the stamina to continue. As the months passed by, I had started to compare my situation more and more to the kind of a prisoner.

I had even started to slightly suspect the Jedi were somehow responsible for my current health. I could not think of any other reason why they wanted to keep me trapped to this Enclave instead of transferring me to the nearest Republic military base. But the Jedi were known not to lie. Perhaps they sometimes modified the truth, but they certainly did not lie. Why would they bloody have started it in my case? Anyhow, I had started to loose that blind, pathetic trusting about everything they said. I had started to question, but kept the feeling deep inside my mind.

The young, distant Jedi Knight did not provide much company and she embodied the majority of my social contacts. The other Jedi, except for Zaza, kept their distance. Aside a few conversations about her native planet, Sandra clearly was not keen on revealing details about her life. Our short conversations tended to be quite one-sided.

It was only a matter of time when the nothing-to-do drove me to go against Zaza's orders and to start rehabilitating my body on my own. If anything, I had always been poor in just twiddling my thumbs. I believed growing weakness in my body or an incipient headache would function as the best indicators if I was forcing myself over the limits.

I started to create special routines to pass time. The space within my room allowed me to take five strides until I reached a wall and was forced to turn around. The floor provided a reasonable amount of friction for strength-enhancing and other exercises. Each and every single day I set a target – how many steps I needed to take or the amount of exercises that needed to be performed – and made sure I beat it. It was euphoric to finally fall on the bed, every single drop of sweat drained from my body. Thinking it was impossible to move the aching, tired muscles. And then to get up once more and do a single extra exercise – and to notice my body could pull it through.

One could compare this to the behaviour of a caged wild beast. It would not go far because often I felt like one; a caged Jedi pet.

I tortured myself. I don't know where the desire to go to such a length - to explore the final limits of my body - originated itself from. Possibly something within me wanted to rebel against these circumstances I was forced to tolerate; circumstances that were a result to some absurd notion of the faith. Possibly I wanted to prove to Zaza, whatever she thought was the correct rate of recovery, I could do it better. Or maybe I just wanted to get the Hell out of this place and could not care less even if I had to take the risk of kicking the bucket on the way.

Zaza's visits had become less frequent when Sandra had taken the role as my escort and my guard. Possibly she had more important issues on her mind now that my condition was apparently not directly life-threatening. If she did pay me a visit, it was sometimes because of a certain required medical examination, but usually she mainly wanted to know if I had been able to recover any lost memories from my past. I had not. I started to be certain; what was lost had no intention of returning.

The lost memories did not trouble me anymore. In my opinion, there probably was not much to see anyway. Maybe some smuggling trips or a couple of holes which had been left to my youth waited for their fillings. This all was in the past and as I had assigned myself for the Republic's use for the next few years, I had no intention of dwelling in there. Zaza apparently did not agree. Eventually I had gotten tired of repeating the exact same answers to her questions and had used some quite harsh expressions when requesting her to leave the interiors of my head alone. And she did, reluctantly, but only when I had promised to let her know if any new memories surfaced. For all what I cared, the issue was now fully covered.

Slowly, but steadily my body started to regain its lost strength. I could not anymore recall the last time when the blinding headache had clouded my thoughts. My muscles no more cried in agony when I took them to their limits. And I could not comprehend why my movement outside the room was still restricted, or why for the Force's sake I needed a full-fletched Jedi Knight to watch my steps. Although Sandra never said it out loud, the same thought appeared to have crossed her mind.

"What do you think, Jedi? Is there a possibility you might have something more important to do than to walk as my shadow?" I had once asked her incidentally while we were yet again walking out in the inner courtyard.

"The Council decides which mission is the best use for my skills, soldier," she answered serenely, no emotions.

"It is a war out there. And you guard one single soldier who does not even need guidance. Almost all the other Jedi Knights are out and fighting. And yet, you linger here," I mused quietly. I had hit a sore spot since her lips tightened to a thin line.

"A Jedi's most important task is to guard the peace, not wage the war," she answered quietly, like repeating a long-learned sentence. But I could perceive, fundamentally she agreed with me.

As the months had passed by, the newscasts had turned nothing but grimmer. Darth Malak and the Sith had not been able to penetrate into the Core World space, yet, but far too many planets in the Mid and Outer Rims had been lost to the advancing Sith armies. Numerous important military targets had been wiped off the galactic map. Inevitably, The Republic was crumbling. The Jedi Enclave had become desolate, hallways only whispering the echoes of the life which had once existed here. Also my place was supposed to be elsewhere, aboard a battle ship or on some planet, sighting the nearest Sith with my blaster pistol. Numerous of times I had appealed to Zaza to release me into service.

"Patience, young one," had been the only answer I had received, which made me gnash my teeth. 'Frustration' was a far too mild term to describe my feelings.

Luckily, the Jedi could not keep me forever. Although there were some holes left in my memories, those did not make me incapable of taking my place as a Republic soldier. Even Zaza had to admit there was nothing wrong with my physical condition anymore. And so, a certain day Sandra had barged into my room. Without a knock – as always. Just then, I was balancing on my hands, chest bare, and my legs high up on the wall.

"Dress up, soldier," she barked, trying to keep the coolness in her voice. And then letting accidentally her eyes linger on my chest half a second too long before turning her back to me. Although there were a few shadows of scars marking my skin, I was starting to be in a pretty good physical shape and her reaction had just proved it. A grin spread on my face and, purposely, I did not hurry when bringing my exercise to the end. She waited with patience and turned to confront my face only after I had announced I was modest again.

"Tomorrow you will be transferred to the Republic warship, the _Endar Spire_. Start gathering your stuff, soldier," she announced with a mild smile on her lips, not being able to fully conceal the relief in her voice.

Just like that, five months and seventeen days since my awakening, my unplanned visit to the Jedi Enclave had finally ended. While observing the nearing, pale hull of the _Hammerhead_-class cruiser through the window of the small transport vessel, I would have felt triumphant. Unless Sandra had not been standing right next to me, her presence planting a single seed of doubt in my mind.

Was I truly free?


	3. Collisions on the Endar Spire

All previous disclaimers apply.

**Author's note:** Thank you for your generous reviews! All your comments are appreciated and encourage me to continue with this story.

This story is **rated T** for a reason. There will be violence, coarse language and mild adult themes. If you are uncomfortable with those, this is not your story.

Without more words, let's send Revan into action…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3. <strong>**Collisions on the Endar Spire**

_The e__xplosion shears through the ship. A blinding flash. _

_I smell blood. I taste the iron in my mouth… I realize it is my own. _

_My surroundings flash. I cannot move. My body disobeys the commands of my mind. I try to speak but no sound emerges from my throat. The pain… _

_I see…_

…_The grey eyes; the eyes of steel observe me. I hate those eyes. _

_They will get NOTHING from me! _

_My world shakes and dims into the darkness which whispers only one word… _

_Betrayal._

The echo of the explosion shook my bed, impelling my mind forcefully to the present. My dream had left me soaked with sweat and the feelings lingering within me had not yet released my mind from their icy clutch. My clothes were glued onto my body, moistened by my own sweat. Hatred and a feeling of betrayal swelled deep within my soul; a thousand knives jabbing into my gut. I inhaled a long breath, trying to steady my thoughts and get a grasp of the real world.

It had not been the first time. Every single night for the past two weeks the dream had tormented my sleep. Each and every night it had filled my consciousness during the time I had served as the newest crewmember of the _Endar Spire_. The flagship of the Republic's Great Hero - Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan - had been the very last post I would have predicted myself ending up to after my unplanned, extended isolation from any battle-related action. But here I was, in the friggin heart of the Republic war effort.

_Something is wrong._

A new series of blasts hammered through the ship. The lights of the room followed the abrupt inner vibrations, dimming momentarily and then flashing back on. The hull of the ship shrieked as if tortured, echoes of new explosions rumbling somewhere within its interiors.

…_Very wrong. _

My soldier's instincts took instantly over and a sudden jolt of adrenaline washed away any disorientation the dream had left into my mind. I forced my muscles into movement and my body upright, while mapping the situation with my eyes. A quick scan revealed the room was still as desolate as the moment I had began my rest; the few belongings of my unknown bunkmate still scattered to where he had left them prior to leaving to work his shift. _The battle is not here yet… But how far…?_

The windowless room itself provided no answers, but my ears could distinguish the faint sizzling of blaster bolts - shots shared amidst the explosions. It was obvious that this was more than an attack from the space - the unwanted guests had also infiltrated the ship. _Sithspit. _This mission had just gotten a whole lot interesting.

_Time to get moving__ -_

- I dashed to my footlocker and pressed my fingers around the hilt of my blaster pistol. The weight of the cold metal in my hand released a bland smirk on my face. If the buggers decided to pay me a personal visit, at least they would not find me unarmed - no reason to go down easily. Strapping the standard Republic soldier's armor on seemed to take too many seconds. _Better than going out unarmed_.

Only one door in the room meant only one way in – or out – so I kept my eye fixed to the entrance while getting my gear battle-ready. The battle was getting closer, I noted - fast. Sounds of blasters firing, blasts, and muffled groans of anger or shrieks of agony were closing the distance, becoming more distinct. But… something crucial was missing.

_Where in the Hell are the alarms? _As a standard procedure, an emergency signal was used – should have been used – the exact moment of the first enemy contact to alert all the crew members…

Then, suddenly, the feeling came.

At first, it was just the faintest sensation; merely a soft intuition. A whisper which exploded to the commanding voice of the full certainty - someone was nearing the door; someone was planning to gain entrance. The anxiety circulating his veins, the sweat in his palms… I could almost smell them. His hand was on the door control, frantically pressing keys to slice past the lock...

I jolted to full sprint and leaped to the door - just in time to push the barrel of my blaster pistol to the interloper's temple with a steady hand. His movement ceased as his body tensed to the stiffness of a durasteel bar.

"H-hey, don't shoot!" the blond-haired man with a bulky build and short military haircut burst out, his voice cracking with mild terror; carefully spreading his arms out in a supposedly calming gesture.

"We're on the same side!" he continued in a slightly calmer manner - noting he was still alive - although yet visibly shaken by the unwelcoming interlude provided by my blaster. Recognizing the standard-issue orange-brown Republic armor, I had already perceived the fact. I lowered my blaster, eyeing the man cautiously, not exactly overjoyed about the interference which had instinctively alerted my suspicions.

Quite a few times during my life I had stumbled over an incident which could be compared to a pack of starving Kath hounds finding the last carcass on the planet - moments where alliances were merely a cover to be ripped away by arising self-serving needs. Probably no greater stupidity existed than to bite blindly into the information provided by your own eyes.

…_Betrayal…_

"And who the hell are you?" I snapped at him, bluntly, seeing him to wince under the lash of my voice. _Sheer idiocy to burst into the room like a friggin headless gizka! Shouldn't this guy at any rate be hanging around somewhere else like, for instance, protecting the ship? _

"I'm Trask Ulgo, your bunkmate," he answered agitatedly, trying to steady his lungs to the normal rhythm of breathing. "We work opposite shifts so…"

"What has happened?" I cut in. There _possibly_ were other more suitable places for no-use chit chat than a room in the belly of a war ship under attack. Facts shedding light on the prevailing situation, on the other hand, were something I _could_ work with.

"The Sith have attacked! They ambushed the_ Spire _immediately when we came out from the hyperspace. Now, hurry up… we have to guarantee Bastila's safety!" he explained hastily. I could distinguish small droplets of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"What is the strength of the attack force?" I countered, finalizing the strapping of my armor.

Trask shook his short-haired head, unsure, and I resisted the urge to release a long sigh of frustration. _What have you been doing, di'kut – just running around blindly?_

"I don't know, but it sure isn't looking good. We have lost men – too many of them. Everything is so apart… there's a full chaos out there. Ensuring Bastila's safety is of the utmost importance or everything will be lost."

As far as I could tell, the ambush had taken the_ Spire_ by complete surprise. The Sith had known far too well where to locate the ship. This – and the obvious absence of the planned emergency procedures – pointed to only one direction. _The only option is that the Endar Spire leaks. We have a saboteur and a traitor – a spy amongst us. Someone did provide the Sith the required info and incapacitated the Spire's defences… _

Bastila Shan probably was not close to defenceless, but my orders were as clear as the threat looming over the current situation. I had sworn an oath – we all had sworn the same oath in the beginning of the mission. To protect the Jedi – even, if the cost was my own life. I wasn't sure if I could envision myself going that far, but trying to locate the Jedi was as good objective to work on as any without further knowledge of the predominant circumstances.

"Where's she?" I asked.

"She might be on the command bridge… or in her room. Actually she could be anywhere. She hasn't exactly been _shouting_ her coordinates to anyone." Trask let out a sigh, the demeanour of the soldier being clearly troubled. "Everything's a big mess. The attack was so swift I don't think even the command knew what hit us."

"Let's move to the bridge," I decided swiftly. The bridge was probably the best shot for gaining a wider picture over the situation. And through it, was the shortest way to the escape pods. I saw no reason why to throw my life away while performing some pointless heroics if the battle was already lost and Bastila lying somewhere, lifeless. _Or the Jedi has managed to escape_.

I holstered the blaster pistol and clutched my hand around the hilt of my vibroblade, followed by a couple of swings to test my reflexes and ready my body to the upcoming clash. Fortunately, being a war vessel, the_ Endar Spire_ had offered the possibility to refresh my skills in weapons handling - or I would have been rusted up to my joints because of the utter lack of practice cumulated in the past months. Hence I had literally lived my spare time in the training rooms, taking out the frustration built up in Dantooine by turning training droids into scrap metal. Before the disastrous mission, I could recollect being fond of my skills with the blaster, but nowadays the blade had seemed more… up to my preferences.

"I take it you enjoy the close quarters," Trask commented, an approving smile softening his features.

I nodded. "It's more or less because of how this bites through the shields. Let's go."

We sneaked cautiously to the hallway. Trask followed a couple of steps behind his blaster rifle at the ready. Somewhere to the left, not far, I could distinguish blasters firing and a cry of pain - confirming someone had taken close contact with the fire. Shouts of troopers sending orders to others, thumping of feet appearing nothing but nearer…

I prepared to take a quick glance around the corner, but was waylaid by soft beeping when our portable communicators buzzed simultaneously into life.

_Damn, _I cursed inwardly, slightly startled by the interference and silenced the troublesome beeper - getting a quick glimpse of a goatee-faced man's features in the monitor. Raising his eyebrow to express a silent question, Trask followed my example after agonizing three seconds and some swift but intelligible gesturing of my left hand. His demeanour evolved into full realization when bursts of blaster fire barraged the nearby hallway. _Could have picked a better moment for these announcements…_

I took a quick peek - locking the targets in my mind - just in time to see a Republic soldier fall under the merciless onslaught of the Sith blasters. 'Three, provide cover' I gestured silently to Trask. Following a quick nod, the bulky soldier appeared to be already on the move.

"For the Republic!" the white-haired tornado roared and charged out, his blaster spitting fire - leaving me to stand amused for a half a second. Whatever Trask was trying to achieve, it didn't shout 'cover fire' to me, but worked. Gaining the full attention of the golden-armored Sith troopers and dodging their fire with either skill or awfully good luck – I couldn't decide which – he managed to create an opening to their defences and it was near effortless to sprint to the first trooper and bury my vibroblade somewhere in between his pelvis and rib cage. The trooper's life ended with a cry of agony before he even noticed my existence. The second trooper felled under Trask's rapid firing - whilst I took the opportunity to sprint to the third one, dodging a couple of hastily fired blaster bolts on the way, and slicing him shorter by a head.

_I have to admit that __jumpy, suicidal Bantha is after all useful in a battle…_

Aside from us and the scattered bodies – lying lifeless in both orange and golden armors - the hallway was disturbingly empty; only the smoke from the silenced blasters yet thickening the air.

"By the Force, you are fast," Trask acknowledged a hint of admiration behind his words when I knelt down to check the Siths' equipment. "I figured you were more of a typical scout-type, when I heard you understand more languages than all the other crew put together and have travelled to planets I've never even heard of. But seems to me you also know how to use that sharp friend of yours."

"Not all planets are friendly," I answered, unwilling to take the discussion further. If anything, Trask seemed to have a strong tendency to lead a conversation to the exact opposite direction from _the point_. I grabbed a couple of medpacs and grenades from the Sith – discarding their weapons as unnecessary weight load – and tossed a couple of grenades to Trask. Two consecutive decisions I was going to regret later.

"I wonder what Commander Onasi was going to say…" Trask pondered quietly when we were on the move again, trotting the battle-scarred hallway. "Usually when he has something to say, you better keep your ears open. That man has seen some pretty nasty action."

"I trust whatever he had to say, was not important enough to get perforated by blaster bolts," I answered dryly, keeping the peak of my concentration on my vision and hearing, scanning the hallways and waiting nearby doors to open at any second to reveal a horde of Sith troopers. _Trask was right. This is a friggin mess – no collective, controlled defence anywhere…_

Almost, like a telepathic reaction to my thoughts, the _Endar Spire _abruptly fully awakened to the battle when the sirens squalled into action, followed by the sharp clicking of the emergency lockdown sealing any yet open doorways._ Well, that's going to be a lot of help now… _

The emergency procedure was – was supposed to be – to seal any remaining passages leading to anywhere but the command bridge and the escape pods. Without the pass code or extensive use of explosives, the enemy could proceed to one single direction – only to be trapped like a bunch of gizkas in a maze, to be hammered down by the concentrated defence force… Considering the delay in the activation of the alarm and the grim evidence my eyes had provided, the planned defence was probably scattered everywhere but in its intended positions.

The moment offered a damning clarification to my suspicions, as new bursts of blaster fire reached our ears. The next hallway revealed a scene of a group of three retreating Republic soldiers, trying desperately to take cover beside a junction, fighting a yet unseen enemy force. 'Four' one of them gestured us, knowing voices were lost under the rhythmical chant of blasters. This hopeful plea of help was to remain as his last attempt of communication when a well-aimed fragmentation grenade landed in the middle of the group, exploding to lethal shrapnel and sending their bodies flying.

I was already in the middle of a stride.

Speeding myself to a leap across the intersection and rolling to the cover by the wall, I sent a countering grenade with a flick of my wrist. Taken by the surprise, the Sith troopers did not have time to react. When the acrid smoke cleared, I ended the struggle of the last one of them still living by aiming my blade to the thin piece of armor covering his throat.

Trask was observing the mutilated bodies of the Republic soldiers with a frown on his face.

"Maybe there still are others alive on the bridge," he said, trying to light hope to the situation. I didn't answer. The angry, electrical hums, which thickened the air even through the metallic mass of the durasteel door next to us, had taken my notice. Trask pressed the door control after we had taken positions, one on each side of the doorway and weapons readied. A good expectation of the irrevocable confrontation crossed my mind as the door slid open.

Azure met crimson with a multicoloured flash when two hissing blades of pure energy cut the air and clashed to each other with a deadly force, utilizing a velocity far out of a normal human's range. Her movements hastening up to an inhuman blur, Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena managed to block the black-clad man's attack and retaliated with a series of complicated blows. The blue beam painted the air.

"It's a Dark Jedi!" Trask shouted. "This fight is too much for us – we better stay back!"

I barely noticed his words. My thoughts had sunk to the rhythm of the battle with a routine I didn't have the faintest knowledge of possessing.

The initially chaotic-seeming clash started to evolve into a series of well-planned, aimed strikes within my head – pieces of a puzzle clicking to their correct places. Sandra was on the defending side, I could discern. The sheer power of the man's strikes forced her hands to yield under the blows, leaving a hole to her stance… somewhere around her left thigh. Due to the direction of the offensive and retaliated strikes, I perceived, this was the place the Dark Jedi intended to finish his series of attacks – leaving, in turn, a small part of the man unprotected.

Everything but the battle of two blades dimmed into nothingness. A grin had spread on my face.

I raised my blaster steadily, aiming. The crimson blade leaped into the blow which would only end in a battler's demise. My finger bended to pull the trigger…

And the blaster spat out a single blast of light.

The crimson blade clanked to the floor along with the man whose hand had once carried it. His eyes were still open, but a burnt hole in the middle of his forehead stated that his life had leaked out from his earthly shell.

_Even the Jedi __fall under blaster fire. I wonder where his Force is now…_

"Daraz, by the Force!" Sandra yelled from the bottom of her lungs when our eyes locked. But following a quick, startled glance at something behind her back, the Jedi lunged, gathering her body into a ball on the floor - instinctively covering her face. The fading echo of her voice was lost in a powerful explosion, when a faulty power conduit blasted into flesh-tearing shrapnel and metal.

Trask was the first one to reach the Jedi and he carefully turned the woman to her side. Sandra was conscious, but had paid a grievous toll for taking the full extent of the blast with no other protection than her own flesh. Patches of her brown robes were turning a degree darker from her own blood; shredded pieces of clothing revealing a skin in no better condition. When I knelt down beside her, I could only hope that the sharp pieces of shrapnel had not managed to penetrate her organs.

"I'll bind up your wounds," I explained calmly, trying to reassure the injured Jedi whilst opening a medpac. Clearly in great pain - panting, and her eyes clouded - her body shivered during each application of kolto. But yet no sound, no moan of pain emerged from her lips. I removed the largest splinters from her skin and bandaged what I could. The result was not very professional-looking, but it would suffice, and at least the healing process could start. Maybe she even would survive.

Carefully, I leaned over her with the intention of lifting her up. Surely, she would not be able to walk – no one could, with injuries as severe.

"No." The voice was firm, tolerating no objections. The sudden response ceased my movement before I could lift her body a single millimetre upwards.

"Is your wish to rather die here, Jedi?" I inquired astounded, not believing my ears. _Did she also take a blow on her head?_

"I'll just gather my bearings… pull strength from the Force. In this condition I will be a mere hindrance. Two minutes, soldier," she answered, her voice husky with pain.

"No meditation will help you here. The ship is under _attack _and we need to move _now._" I articulated with extreme care. Not wanting to comprehend what I was hearing. In addition to blood, she obviously had lost the majority of her mind.

"I am a ranking officer on this vessel, Ensign. You will do _just_ as _I _tell you to."

I jolted up, gnashing my teeth. She had the nerve to pull a rank in this kind of a situation… when waiting was sheer madness! _Are you going to kill us all with your stupidity, Jedi? _Momentarily the option of leaving her and Trask to this blasted room and trying to find a way to the nearest escape pod flickered in my mind. I had absolutely no intention of wasting my life due to the idiocy of another being, a Jedi or not.

"I sense we are not in immediate danger," she continued quietly, forcing her body to a sitting position. I grimaced frustrated, my mind boiling in anger because of her lack of common sense.

_What wil__l you sense then when the Siths' ammos pierce your flesh, Jedi?_

"Two minutes," Sandra said; her voice weak. The Jedi pulled a shaky breath and concentrated, focusing her vision into pure nothingness. Hearing the yell of alarms and feeling the inner vibrations of the dying ship under my feet, I could not bear the thought of standing still. I took a position by the next door, marching back and forth, hands clenched to the hilt of my blade and geared up to strike the second someone stepped in. I needed to kill something. _Schutta!_

"That was quite a shot, Daraz," Trask stated incidentally, his eyes sweeping the direction of our arrival. "…Never seen anything like that before." The soldier seemed to be too well adapted to the sudden delay. _A typical brainless Republic soldier. Believes everything the Jedi feed to him. _

"I saw an opening and took it," I answered through clenched teeth, keeping a disinterested tone. In truth, I did not fathom what had taken over my reflexes during that certain moment. Nor did I truly care to ponder it, yet.

The silent glare of two emerald eyes broke my pace. The red-haired Jedi had an unreadable frown on her face, her stare now fixed into my form with the incisiveness of two daggers. I met her eyes with my own with no intention of backing down.

"I assume you are done wasting our time, Jedi?" I asked with a hint of venom in my voice.

Sandra nodded solemnly and to my surprise she slowly rose up to her feet, taking a break when her wounds hit her too painfully. Every single inch of her essence shouted of pain but, I had to admit, she appeared to be hanging on to life with a stronger thread than a while ago. …_Jedi magic?_

"Good, let's move before the Sith blast the _Spire _into galactic dust," Trask stated, drowning his surprise well, and hurried to support the wounded Jedi's steps with his own strength.

All of a sudden, I spotted a cylindrical metallic object on the floor. It must have rolled to its location - half-hidden under a bench - after it had been released from the clench of its previous owner's hand. The Dark Jedi's lightsaber had deactivated itself, but not before leaving a scorched scar to the durasteel floor – as a reminder of its deadly existence. Curious to examine the infamous Jedi weapon, I knelt down and lifted the cylinder.

Somehow, the weight of the lightsaber and the coolness of the metallic hilt in my fingers felt… familiar.

It felt…

...right.

"Give it to me, soldier." Sandra's steel-enhanced voice slashed my thoughts away. The Jedi was now standing right in front of me, her open palm lifted in front of my face – the whole of her demeanour not asking, but demanding.

I hesitated. What would happen if I denied? Something in the weapon captivated me. Something within me urged, no… _compelled_ to keep the weapon in my possession.

"A lightsaber is not an ordinary soldier's weapon, Daraz," the Jedi continued with a tone which did not tolerate a 'no' for the answer. Her posture was tensed and not because of the pain, I presumed.

I gave a nonchalant shrug. Whatever. A spike of anger washed through my system when I shoved the lightsaber into her waiting hand, jolted back up and lashed my hand to the next door control; hiding the urge to grimace. _Better to stay a galaxy's length away from anything related to the Jedi. Or the Sith. _Yet, I could not fully ignore the feeling of a lost battle – a battle I hadn't even been aware of fighting in.

Nonetheless, Sandra had been right. The next hallway was desolate of the Sith. As a matter of fact, it was empty with the exception of a wrecked service droid. Too empty. And far too silent. When making our way slowly, cautiously to the bridge, Trask helping the battered Jedi, I attempted to distinguish any sounds of fighting amidst the blasts that bombarded the outer shell of the _Spire_ or the bleating alarms. But the whizz of the firing blasters had died, vanished. It could only mean one thing – an assumption which was not encased in a positive nuance.

"I sense at least five hostile beings on the bridge. Proceed with caution, soldiers."

I discarded my vibroblade in favour of the blaster. It would be suicidal to lunge into melee in a situation when the enemies had the higher ground, not to mention the probability of blasters in their hands. After taking our positions and ready to meet whatever the bridge offered, the door slid open.

The bridge was lost. It wasn't obvious only because of the scattered, bloodied bodies, but in as much as the reactions of the Sith troopers who dashed quickly into cover. I tossed a grenade in their wake and took cover before hailing fire towards the surviving enemies. A grating of red crossfire blanketed the air, blood-hungry bolts searching for flesh to pierce. Sandra's Force powers leaped into action when an invisible hand grabbed two wriggling troopers and lifted them up in the air, offering an easy shot for me and Trask. The remaining one, trying desperately to take cover behind control panels, was felled by Trask's rapid bursts of blaster fire.

Then came the silence.

The massive windows surrounding the command bridge offered a sight of the utmost finality when another pack of agile Sith fighters darted past the ship, hitting a series of lasers to the shivering, injured hull of the _Spire. _The bridge was lost. The _Endar Spire_ was lost. The battle was nothing but lost. Would it have made any difference if we had arrived two minutes earlier? Might someone have survived?

"_The_ two minutes did not mean anything," Sandra stated calmly. The Jedi was pressing her injured side with her hand. The bandages covering her upper body were turning red.

"Do _not_ read my mind, Jedi," I snapped coldly, not enjoying the thought of being accompanied by someone who could dig feelings from my head with the facileness of melting an ice cube with a flamethrower.

I scanned the orange- and gold-armored bodies littered on the bridge floor, seeking a glimpse of the corpse which belonged to Bastila Shan. And found nothing.

"Bastila has been able to escape," Sandra said, relieved. "I haven't sensed her presence in this ship for a while. I hoped it did not mean we had lost her… her life to the battle." She was pale, almost deathly white. The Jedi was probably using all of her remaining strength just to keep herself from stumbling down to the floor.

"I suggest we follow her example and get off this blasted wreck," I remarked. The windows offered a sight of the massive dome of a bluish-green planet. If there were any escape pods left, this nearby planet could offer the closest shot to survival.

Before we had exited the bridge, a single door in the centre of the back wall slid open – revealing a sight of a black-clad bald man. Sandra pulled a hasty breath and grabbed her lightsaber.

"This one is mine," she stated, her voice weakened. Following consecutive snap-hisses, two crimson beams of energy sprang forth in the distance and one azure blade appeared in Sandra's hands. Instinctively, I reacted by firing my blaster towards the dark assailant, but the Dark Jedi redirected the blast towards me with a quick flick of a red blade. I ducked but still the countered bolt sizzled far too close past my head for my taste.

"Save the Jedi! For the Republic!" The shout came with the full force of Trask's lungs. The soldier stormed to the room and barged into the Dark Jedi, sending both men sprawling to the floor. Behind them, the doors closed with a clank, muffling only slightly the explosion which shook the room and rendered them inoperable - efficiently sealing the passage. Evidently, Trask had finally found a target for one of his grenades.

_What a__ friggin waste. _

"May the Force be with him." Sandra said quietly and almost lost her balance when a wave of weakness washed over her body. This time, the Jedi did not resist when I lifted her slender form up in my arms and continued to proceed to the escape pods.

"He was a fool," I responded. "There were three of us. We could have taken one Dark Jedi down."

"He was not a 'one' Dark Jedi." Sandra explained. "He was Darth Bandon, Darth Malak's apprentice." She sighed. "He… Trask sacrificed himself because of me."

"War comes with losses. You should know that," I answered dryly. The Jedi opened her mouth as if to reply, but her sentence was finished before it started when my comm buzzed lightly. This time I accepted the message and got a look at the face of the same bearded soldier as during the previous unsuccessful attempt.

"This is Carth Onasi. I'm tracking your position through the _Endar Spire's_ life support systems. Bastila's escape pod is away. I repeat – Bastila's escape pod is away." His voice crackled with mild electricity due to the transmission.

"What's the situation?" I asked.

"You are the last surviving crew members. Come straight to the escape pods. The _Spire _won't hold on much longer ...the damage is too great."

I acknowledged and thickened my pace. The escape pods were no more than a few doors away. The Jedi in my arms was half-sleeping and sliding somewhere between unconsciousness and weak alertness. She would be no use in a clash should we encounter any hostiles. A new wave of blasts rocking the ships broken hull, I almost did not notice the faint beeping of my comm.

"It's Carth," he said. "The Sith are evacuating so they will obliterate the ship soon. But I noticed from the surveillance monitors that there's a whole squad of troopers in the room after the next one. Be careful." I thanked for the information and spotted a charred computer terminal in the corner of the room. _This could turn out useful._

Carefully, I lowered the unconscious Jedi to the floor and let my fingers dance on the monitor. I smirked when I managed to slice into the surveillance system of the ship – another small benefit gained during my light-repelling past. Security cameras revealed that the scene in the room Carth had meant was not tempting in terms of a direct onslaught. Six Sith troopers were scavenging everything someone could call valuable, ripping the abandoned ship from its equipment and deceased crewmembers' possessions. The attack had turned into a raid when all the resistance was gone.

_Despicable__ maggots. _

I observed the scene for a short while, pondering the most optimal attack strategy. Six to one – the numbers were not in my favour, but possibly a quick toss of a grenade could clean things up… _Hey, what's there?_ I took a new approach to the resolution when a power conduit in the side of the room caught my eye. After some hacking and tinkering with the electrical current controls, the conduit exploded. A cold, amused grin spread on my face when I admired the devastating results of my work.

After lifting Sandra back to my arms, I plunged my stride into full run. The pods were not far away. I slowed down when I arrived to the room I had destroyed a moment ago, watching my step careful not to stumble on the golden-armored corpses on the floor - and shot a bolt through the visor of the last one of the Sith still expressing some forms of movement. The Jedi in my arms had fallen silent, to the complete state of unconsciousness.

A tall man in the Republic soldier's armor was waiting by the escape pods. All launch pads were empty except one.

"Let's go!" he shouted, gesturing towards the remaining escape pod when another series of blasts rocked the floor. A shriek from the hull made his voice almost inaudible. We dived into the pod, Carth pressing the launch control in the middle of his step. I lowered Sandra to a seat whilst fighting to keep my balance in the wildly shaking capsule.

As its final action, the Hammerhead-class cruiser spat the escape pod from its hull. Through the pod's round window I saw the ship turn into a metal-spewing fireball, when a series of successful laser blasts ended its journey in the galaxy for the eternity. The shockwave of the explosion thrust the escape pod to a violent whirl and I could feel my legs loosing their grip of the floor, my body smashing to the wall whilst the surface of the nearby planet closed in faster… and faster...

_This __is not going to end well… _


	4. Against All Odds

All previous disclaimers apply.

**Chapter 4. ****Against all odds**

The darkness…

There was something familiar lingering within it.

_The grey eyes – __those eyes of steel observe me. _

_No.__ Not just mere eyes…_

_Now t__he eyes are framed with a face of a woman. She is young, yet almost a girl; maybe barely over twenty of age. Her hair bears the colour of auburn and, hanging partly loose, strands covering her face, they are mocking the elegant coiffure which used to hold them. _

_Just finish me off, Jedi, if that is what y__ou came to do! Do not scoff me with your stare. Your so-called victory - your fraud - shall be hollow!_

_Her delicate features are covered with sweat and ash. __She looks tired and …a bit lost; uncertainness and heavy sadness dwelling deep in her eyes. Her lips tightening to a thin line of determination, she leans over me…_

_I cannot move. I cannot speak. __I cannot breath. My mouth is filled with my own blood. The final darkness is coming – soon – I know. So this is how Death feels like. _

_I am falling into an abyss._

_I have failed. For everything I have fought for - everything I have sacrificed for – will be lost._

_I despise__ her for seeing me like this – immobile, weak, dying – like a crushed insect. I want to hate her. _

_But…_

_I feel her compassion. __It is a hundred seas flooding over the barren desert of my mind. I can feel her reaching out for me, grabbing me, lifting me… _

…_Why?_

_Bastila Shan!_

I jerked upright to a sitting position as if electrocuted, inhaling my lungs full of air with a single long heave. The surroundings were dark, foggy; my eyes still having trouble adjusting to the dim lighting. The location was very much unfamiliar, I could perceive. Under me, beneath my body, was something with a hint of softness. A bed?

…_They will get NOTHING from me… _

It was the final thought dwelling in my dream; the ultimate statement yet pounding in the interiors of my head. I sent my hand to my waist, trying to get a hold of my blaster… or any weapon. My heart skipped a beat when my fingers grasped cool thin air - meeting only emptiness where my weapon should have been hanging. A river of thoughts raced through my mind.

_My weapons__… gone. Am I captured? A prisoner? _

A single flash of rage coursed through my veins and my teeth clenched together. The last occurrence I could recollect was the acrid stench of betrayal and my life fleeting my mangled body before the eyes of an _enemy_. The grim feeling of bereavement was forming a tight knot around my interiors; the acknowledgement of having lost something which held much greater significance than a mere defeat at a single battle.

The utter knowledge of seeing your plans crack and shatter to the tiniest of pieces, blown away by the coldest of winds.

…_Everything I have sacrificed for will now burn to ashes. For I have failed…_

And the awareness of being forced to lose even much more - my life at the mercy of someone not carrying parallel intentions. I only barely noticed the tiny growl leaving my lips.

…_I will not submit. I will not surrender…_

I glanced around in furious sweeps, trying to figure out my surroundings. My eyes were starting to get accustomed with being open again as the hazy blurriness was sharpening into a form of a run-down room. I could distinguish a couple of beds, a dingy table… not much else there in this dark, wall-restricted square. And there, on the side of the room, was… movement, when a lone figure rose to its full height, emerging as a shape of a man.

Instinctively, I tensed my muscles in order to defend myself – ready to strike even with my bare hands should the need arise.

But there was none of such. The reality hit me - banishing any rage and thoughts of imprisonment - as my brains linked the face of the man to a very familiar name. _Onasi. _The adrenaline leaving my body, my heart rate started to sink down to calmer levels and my rapid-turned breathing slowed down.

The memories of recent occurrences started to click into their places in my mind. The battle aboard the _Endar Spire_. The Sith. The escape pod which had ended its frenzied whirl by crashing to the surface of the planet, taking constructs in its wake and creating an endless amount of shrapnel. It was around there where the holofilm of my memories finished broadcasting the show, leaving only blackness in its stead.

I let go of the tension in my body. Whatever mixed feelings had overwhelmed my mind after the awakening, those were now gone.

Yet, I felt hollow... I shook my head. _Try to focus._

The tall dark-haired man with a strong build and a posture of a soldier, clad in his orange-brown Republic armor, made calmly his way towards my bed. I locked my gaze to the bearded features and dark brown eyes. Carrying roughly ten years of age over mine and probably twenty times more experience at warfare, Commander Onasi was a welcome sight.

"Carth Onasi," I stated, my voice slightly cracking due to the lack of saliva in my mouth, and directed a nod to the goatee-bearded man's features; signalling that I had acknowledged his presence. _Good to see a familiar face. _

"Good to see you awake instead of trashing around in your sleep," Commander Onasi stated calmly, locking his sharp eyes with mine, whilst pushing a cup filled with water into my hand. I thankfully accepted and gulped the entire fillings of the cup down my throat. By the Force, _that_ felt good.

The feeling inside my mouth had been something one could compare to the situation if one half of the friggin Tatooine desert had been dumped in there for safe-keeping. The toll to some hectic fighting and far too many hours of hectic sleeping, I could presume. Dried up to the joints, my body literally pleaded for the precious liquids it had lost in the form of sweat.

For a single long second, I enjoyed the feeling of the new-found moistness inside my mouth. Up until the moment, when the entire room jerked and took a dancing turn around my head. I could only faintly hear the clank of the cup when it hit the floor; freed from my loosened grip.

"Damn." I had to let my head drop down to rest my temples between my hands. The painful pounding inside my skull was in perfect sync with my heart rate; the steady angry hammering being an obvious protest from my tired brains to the far too speedy jolt upright. For a painfully long-spreading moment, I felt the room spinning around and fought the urge to vomit when a wave of nausea washed over my body. A sour taste appeared in my mouth.

Alarmed by my evident disorientation, Carth swiftly reacted by injecting a needle to my forearm and emptying the contents of the syringe to my bloodstream. No permissions asked.

"This'll ease the pain. You banged your head pretty hard when the pod crashed to the surface of Taris. We are at an abandoned apartment in the Upper City and safe for the moment… _if _you can call it that," Carth explained steadily. As a silent reply, I lifted my hand to my occipital – that area appearing to be the main beacon of my headache - and probed carefully. I grimaced when my fingers found swollen, sore flesh and the rough surface of a fresh scab hidden beneath my hair.

_Bloody great._

For certain, the situation had began to appear nothing but familiar. In a very bizarre, twisted, cynical sort of way. I seemed to have started to make a habit out of hitting my head and waking up in an unfamiliar environment with fresh holes left in my memories. _A couple more of these 'awakenings' and I don't have enough brain cells left to know which boot belongs to which leg. The Force has to have a sense of humour – whatever Zaza says…_

But that was the least of my worries. The situation did not have the echo of the word 'promising' emanating from it – this I could detect even without knowing further details.

Taris - so that's where we were. A planet, on which I had never set my foot prior to this exact date, but which was at least somewhat familiar due to the short but informative discussions with Sandra. The planet, whose entire surface was covered by a single gigantic city. The planet, which was one of the conquests of the advancing Sith fleets of Darth Revan and Malak; one of the freshest wounds to the Republic flesh.

Yes – I definitely could not pick out the word 'promising' anywhere.

To sum it up, we were a couple of stranded Republic soldiers somewhere deep in the Sith space, on a Sith-controlled, Sith-swarming piece of rock.

An even more unsettling thought crossed my mind.

_Taris… That's where Sandra __is from… _

I took another glance around the room, trying to distinguish a hint of crimson hair or a feminine figure… and found it disturbingly empty.

"The Jedi. Did she make it?" I asked and continued with a couple of coughs combined with an intention of clearing my throat. My voice was still coarse, raspy. _Could use a couple more glasses of water. Or maybe a small pond, to be exact. _

"She's badly injured, but alive …I guess. At least she was the last time I saw her."

Slightly puzzled, I raised my eyebrows, and Carth continued.

"It felt like a small miracle that the first people I encountered were friends of the Republic; right after I had dragged you two out of the pod. We made it away before the Sith stormed the location. The Jedi is in the care of a doctor – a man named Zelka – whose practice is nearby. The doctor also agreed to show me this abandoned apartment we can use as a hideout," Carth explained with calm patience.

I nodded, slightly relieved. So Carth had managed to get the injured Jedi to the care of a doctor. And he had been able to go undetected and to find a somewhat secure place to hide while dragging around my presumably unconscious muscle and bones. I was at least a little bit of impressed. No wonder the man was one of the most decorated officers in the Republic fleet.

"I could use a throughout update on the situation right now," I stated. "Since the _Endar _Spire, I seem to be hitting a wall of emptiness in my head."

Now, that _almost_ was a statement to laugh at.

I felt a slight shiver running through my muscles when another wave of squeamishness spread through my body and tried to force my interiors upside down. Luckily I hadn't eaten for a while or I would have had the wonderful opportunity of studying the digested remnants of food from an all too close distance, I pondered with mild sarcasm. But the painkiller Cart had injected was kicking in – fast – as the pounding inside my head was wearing off. It would not take long for me to get back on my feet. Slight nausea was only a small tease, nothing to lament over.

Without wincing, I kept my face expressionless and eyes locked to Onasi's, as the man continued the narration.

"I'm not surprised. You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for almost twenty hours. Zelka asked me to keep an eye on you because it wasn't possible for him to take you in. I understand that pretty well because the man's got his kolto tanks full of Republic soldiers on a Sith-infested planet. The man is taking a horrendous risk but yet the backroom of his practice is stuffed with injured soldiers."

Only now did I notice the dark lines under Onasi's eyes. Probably the man hadn't had the chance to rest his eyelids even for a mere second whilst I had been out; the weight of the fought battle yet pulling his shoulders heavily down. Looking at the small wrinkles crossing his features and the bags under his eyes, the man had gained ten years to his age at the _Endar Spire_ and during the following sleepless hours. Not to mention impact of the obliteration of his ship, the destruction of his crew; deaths of _his _men. Showing now signs of an emotional breakdown, the man had pulled it well together – I had to admit.

However, I noted, for the _Endar Spire_… I felt nothing.

…_War comes __with losses – you know this. The weaker in terms of tactics, morale or skill is the one to perish…_

_But shouldn't I feel even the slightest bit of sadness for them? They were also my crew. They were a Republic crew. _

…_There is nothing new in entire ships – entire fleets – burning to nothingness. You have seen it before and you will see it happening in the future. It is the toll of War. It is the sacrifice which must be made… _

"I did some scouting while you were out… and the situation does not look bright," Onasi continued with a steady voice, efficiently cutting my thoughts away. "Seems the Sith established a blockade around Taris straight after the destruction of the _Spire. _Not to mention, the _Leviathan _herself is orbiting the planet. No ships go in or out. Down here, they've declared martial law and are patrolling in wide numbers."

Carth paused, his brows furrowed. "I think it is evident why."

"Bastila Shan," I stated dryly, having ended up to the identical conclusion in my mind.

"Looks like that," Carth replied, his comment accompanied by a short nod. "I think locating Bastila is the first priority. No more than because of the Republic war effort, I truly wish she is in good shape." he continued, his voice lowering down.

Bastila Shan, the Jedi commanding the mystical so-called skill of Battle Meditation. The Jedi ability, which enabled her to take control of the enemies' minds; to force them to lose their wills to fight. The woman who was, during these times, the supposed brightest hope of the Republic. Was this woman – almost a _girl _- so important to the Sith that they displayed the effort of quarantining an entire planet in order to cut her escape routes away? Could any person – no matter which skills they held – be of such importance?

Apparently.

_Bastila friggin__ Shan._

Suddenly, the blood circulating my veins turned ice cold. Bastila Shan – the woman from my dreams, the tormentor of my nights. I knew this now. I had felt this missing piece of the puzzle clicking to its rightful place.

Why was my subconscious broadcasting the features of a woman I remembered never to have met? Not even during the days aboard the _Spire_. Was she somehow related to my injuries all those months ago?

Were the _Jedi_ somehow responsible?

Knowing the reputation of the Jedi as peacekeepers and drivers of the highest purposes, the thoughts did not make sense. The Jedi were believed to be the saviours, not the villains; their acts lifting them above regular sentient beings.

But… repeating the recording in my head of the months I had spent in Dantooine, _something_ had been very much amiss in there. Was it how they had acted? Was it because of how they had treated me – more like a _prisoner_ than a patient? Not like an injured common soldier who had been tossed into their care. But more… more like a caged wild beast with claws and fangs; a predator prowling, waiting an opportunity to bounce into an attack… to taste _their_ blood.

Even during that time, even whilst being _fed _with their ideals, I had felt the urge to question their motives.

I had no quarrel with the Jedi – at least I did not recollect of having such. But during the course of those months - due to the atmosphere of mutual suspicions dwelling in the Enclave - there had been moments when I had desired the whole Jedi order to be sent to the deepest of Hells.

Nonetheless, I knew I had to find Bastila. Not because of the Republic; not because of the War. My reasons were much deeper, located in a much more personal level. I had to either see her face or her corpse with my bare eyes to find a resolution to a question I was yet forming in my mind. She was a key to the answer – she had to be.

Or.

Or I was loosing my faltering grasp on the reality; my sanity fading. It was the cynical option which had crossed my mind more than once when the nightmares aboard the _Spire _had tirelessly continued.

The Hell - _that_ was the most plausible reason. I _was_ becoming kriffin' insane.

But if there was even the slightest chance that Bastila was holding the keys to some kind of a resolution, I would be there to take it. No… I _needed_ to be there.

"Do you have any hints about her whereabouts?" I asked. "If the Sith are after her, it is probable she still is on the loose - as long as the planet is under quarantine."

_Or her corpse has not been found yet… _I killed the gloomy trail of thought immediately. Somehow, a part of me screamed she was alive with the same certainty as I was breathing during this very moment.

"You're probably right. I suspect her escape pod crashed to the Undercity - under this very same area. According to street rumours, the majority of the escape pods crashed in there." Carth paused and his features turned into a mask of stone. "Though, in addition to us, I do not know others who were lucky. The soldiers… the patients at Zelka's practice are more or less waiting for their deaths… I try to believe, because Bastila has a strong command over the Force, she might have had survived. Just like we did."

"I take it we shouldn't be optimistic about getting reinforcements," I commented, collecting the fragments of information to my mind. It would most certainly get interesting trying to locate a Jedi's whereabouts somewhere in the middle of enemy forces before the Sith would get to her. Not to mention the upcoming attempt at escaping through a blockade of enemy ships, accompanied with a Jedi the Sith were so frantically trying to hunt down.

_Things are about to get interesting, indeed. _

"We're on our own," Carth replied with a slight smile which showed no signs of happiness.

"Twenty hours gives things plenty of time to proceed so I should get moving," I stated and forced my body up to my feet, cursing the wasted time deep inside my mind.

Each lost hour was an hour lost. Each hour was an hour closer to the moment of the Sith catching Bastila. If not injured, the Jedi probably could manage fairly well even if she was on her own. But considering the rumoured poor successes of the other crash landings, the odds definitely were not on her side.

The headache was gone, and despite the slight dizziness during the first few seconds on my feet, I found myself quite set for action - unless a pack of rabid rakghouls were the first hostiles to come around the corner. And this was the longest time I could spare for my body to recover, so it needed - dammit - just humbly to adjust to the situation.

"I suggest you try to get some rest," I told Carth who was observing me with a raised eyebrow. Noting the change in the older soldier's demeanour, something was clearly puzzling the older man. "I'll try to dig out some information about the escape pods. But first I'd like to exchange few words with this doctor-friend of ours you mentioned."

I needed to see how Sandra was doing. The Tarisian Jedi was probably the closest thing to a tactical advantage I could think of in the current situation. And, on the other hand, I was not overjoyed of the fact that the Jedi was in care of some doctor who had just happened to stumble on the crash site at the right moment. Not before I had met the man myself. Either it had been – like Carth had mentioned – a small miracle. Or there was something else hiding underneath. But judging Onasi's reputation as a top-class soldier, for the moment, I was placing my bets on the first option.

Allies were rare in a situation like this. This Zelka-card was definitely worth turning. If there was an opportunity of getting extra pieces of information with the help of this doctor, I was sure to bite in.

Carth considered, weighting me up with his eyes.

"Alright," he replied slowly; reluctantly accepting the fact that his exhausted body was closing its limits. "But be careful. There's a swarm of Sith out there. I heard rumours of even Dark Jedi being spotted on the planet. Although I don't believe looking for a couple of common soldiers like us is high on the Sith's list of priorities, keeping a low profile does not make harm."

"I am used to moving without being noticed," I assured the man with confidence. It was not exaggeration but the truth.

"I'll bet on that," Carth blurted out. "I read your file, Daraz. I want to know the people I work with. I thought we were getting more like a linguistics specialist, but the actions you showed during the battle aboard the _Spire_ were rather… _noteworthy_." I could sense the sudden change in his demeanour; the certain degree of coolness spreading to his voice.

I observed the man, noting the cocktail of emotions – the incipient frown, the tightening of his lips - cross his face under my eyes. I had no access to my files aboard the _Spire_, nor did I know what expressions the command had used to sum up my abilities. To be exact, the blasted file had not even aroused my curiosity.

"Then… I suppose I do not have to enlighten you about my skills, Commander," I replied calmly without the intention of hiding the mild sarcasm in my voice and let a slight smile spread to my lips.

I had easily sensed the shrouded suspicion hidden beneath his words. After all, he had a leaking ship and presumably an infiltrator on the loose – two issues most certainly not related to my person.

"There are just… just some issues that do not add up," Carth stated quietly, but his voice lacking the strongest steel; unsure if to push the topic. Onasi apparently did not think high of my kind in the first place, and was desperate to gain a resolution to the incident which had led to the destruction of his ship. His words were bold, to hint his suspicions in circumstances like this. However, although a result of honesty, courage did not always fit to the same space with intelligence.

I shrugged, uninterested. If Onasi wanted an explanation on the occurrences aboard the _Spire_, I could not give this to him. Nor did I hold the motivation of explaining the ways I acted or the previous ways of making my living. Not now, not during this particular moment when I had more urgent issues in my mind and the agitation of getting on the move again tickling my feet.

If the man was after a declaration of loyalty towards the Republic in order to quieten down his distrust, he would have to wait for the stars to dim. Because those words would never leave my lips. I would perform my duty as a soldier of Republic, but I would not _plead_ for a permission I did not consider myself needing.

Nonchalantly, I turned my focus to a more concrete issue. A matter of a far more pressing kind.

I eyed the standard-issue Republic armors which covered both Carth's frame and mine, and discarded the topic in favour of another one.

"Speaking of a 'low profile'… We might have a minor problem regarding the local dress code."

The first step was to strip the armor of its insignia, but yet looming in its bright colours it was still emanating too much 'For the Republic' for my distaste. Anyone who had two brain cells to rub together would link the armor to its origins. In turn, facing Taris without the cover of the armor was probably almost as suicidal – if I had any expectations over the areas my route would eventually cross.

"I could use some paint," I muttered dryly, not exactly enthusiastic over neither of the possible options. Wisely, the Commander had dropped the previous issue whilst observing me to restyle my armor.

"Paint we don't have, but Zelka left me his robe," Carth responded and tossed a brown bundle of cloth to my hands.

_This will do…_

The robe was slightly short, revealing a hand's width of my shirt under its sleeve, but covering the Republic armor in an adequate manner. I raised the hood to shade my features whilst observing my reflection with an analytic eye on the dusty mirror located inside the 'fresher of the apartment.

"Add a lightsaber and I look like a friggin Jedi," I muttered.

Somewhere in the adjacent room, Carth uttered a muffled bark of laughter. I could sense the spike of tension in the atmosphere was loosing its sharp edge. For the moment.

Carth had placed my weapons inside an equipment bag under a bed, along with Sandra's and the Dark Jedi's lightsabers. Absentmindedly, I ran my fingers along the surface of one sleek cylinder before lifting my vibroblade from the bag.

_Wise from him to keep these Jedi weapons hidden. Mi__ght raise too many questions in case we get uninvited visitors..._

"_A lightsaber is not an ordinary soldier's weapon, Daraz." _Sandra's words, uttered aboard the _Spire_, echoed in my mind as if she had been standing right next to me. I shrugged at the memory and gave the Jedi weapon one last sharp glance. I would not need a weapon I had no knowledge of using. Even the option of selling the blasted thing was too risky to consider.

It was more than certain that money – or rather the lack of resources – could cause problems. Our combined belongings exceeded only a few hundred credits. Not much to go with. Not much for new armors which were set high on the list of demands.

_Now that 'extra weight load' I discarded aboard the Spire would come to use__... _But no point in dwelling in decisions already made; acts I could not affect afterwards. Future had the tendency of being hard to predict. But a city like Taris was certain to offer opportunities for gaining easy credits. If one knew where to look.

Listening to Carth sum up his observations and possible locations of interest, I strapped the blade and the blaster to my belt whilst plotting the next courses of action in my mind. Feeling the combined weight of the weapons on my waist, it was like a ripped limb had been reattached to my body. Now I was in my own environment. I was the young cat which had found its nails for the first time.

"Do shoot everyone, who steps inside without knocking. I'll return at dawn," I said, with a smirk on my face when stepping out of the apartment door.

"Bring some food," Carth tossed back somewhere behind me.

The door opened to show a quiet hallway which rounded the apartment complex; only the silent beeps of a cleaning droid performing its tasks colouring the still air. The outer wall of the round hallway was lined with durasteel doors. One of them would lead to the Upper City of Taris. The ecumenopolis - formed of four levels of cities on top of each other; multiple levels of strict societal separation - was famous of its sky-scraping cylindrical buildings which were constructed of innumerable identical floors. When you had seen one Tarisian apartment building, you had seen them all.

_Cannot blame the architects for having too much imagination here…_

My progression through the hallway took an unintended stop in front of a certain closed door. Something had grabbed my interest, but I could not quite point out the source. I studied the door. Nothing conspicuous about it. But…

It was more of an emotion… a quiet plea… a tender, encouraging pull towards the door.

_Damn. My mind is playing tricks on me again._

I killed the feeling before the urge to open the door agglomerated too powerfully into my mind and forced my feet back to movement.

And the door had the appearance of being very much locked.

_Should I start to pursue the career of a burglar because of a some…__ some kriffin' brain dysfunction?_ The thought made me grimace. If something was going on inside my mind, I did not find myself enjoying it the slightest.

When the Upper City of Taris finally opened before my eyes, I let my eyes rest in the scenery for a short moment and pulled my lungs full of cool air; tinted with a touch of electricity. Like all large cities, Taris was life; Taris never slept. Even now, when the planet was closing to its evening, streams of traffic were snaking between the round-topped skyscrapers, and the streets - dotted with wanderers - were far from dead. The life dwelling around my senses, yet seasoned with a shadow of a looming threat, felt refreshing.

It felt familiar. I found myself observing Taris and it was not with the eyes of a fresh visitor. But someone, who knew his way around the city.

Taris, the multiple layers of cities laid on top of each other, was life. Somewhere beneath my feet – possibly either in the criminal-controlled, rotten Lower City, or in the mutant-infested Undercity – was a particular Jedi woman who had somehow become the main focus of my determination, The main driver of my steps. I did not know her. Nor did I even know for sure, if she was an ally… If any of the Jedi were allies.

But yet, I felt myself drawn to her. The urge was not accompanied with loyalty towards the Republic. Nor it was hallowed with the hope of turning the tide of the dwelling war. It was ruthless determination in its purest form.

However, how refreshing the life around me felt, it came as a prerequisite for the existence of death. The war was death.

I threw a silent curse towards the sky, directed at the other one who was aiming towards the same target. Whilst carrying differing ambitions.

Somewhere above the skies of Taris - the sky so illuminated by the lights of the city that even the stars were hidden – was an entire fleet of Sith war ships and Darth Malak himself commanding the mighty Interdictor-class destroyer, the _Leviathan_. With the Sith, came the war.

The war was a part of the path I had found myself travelling. The war, whose deepest core I had been tossed into, had started to diminish to an echo - to a shadow of an ideal I no longer found myself fully complying with. At least not in the way determined by my insignia: an Ensign of the Republic Navy. There were too many inconsistencies colouring my road. Too many unanswered questions dwelling in the pool of my mind.

But during the pursuit for the truth, I could act the way I was expected to act. I would raise a mask to cover my inner feelings and fight and bleed for the Republic, for the Jedi.

Until the time of answers would come.

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><p><strong>AN: **Hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. Yes, things definetely are getting a bit darker inside the pawn's mind.

And I also want to thank you all for the generous reviews! All feedback is truly appreciated. After all, it is the only and the best payment I get from doing this.

I try to get the next update up sooner than this. This took a bit too long – I know. My August was just terrible in terms of writing time. But, do not worry even if the updates take time. I have no plans on abandoning this story.

Finally, please, leave a review! Reviews are equal to increased motivation which equals to more words per day which equals to a faster update rate. ;)


	5. Interlude: The Hunter

All previous disclaimers apply.

**A/N:** Thank you for your generous reviews! Keep 'em coming, please! They really do make my day and this story feel like truly worth continuing.

Hopefully you don't mind a short break from Revan's mind. There's been this infiltrator-thing I've been talking about. Ever wondered who this person was? As a hint I can tell you that, no, this character is not _exactly_ an OC, but rather someone with an extended role. Obvious AU.

The site tried to murder this chapter by deleting a huge bunch of spaces between words. Hopefully I managed to show it its place.

Warning: violence and other possibly disturbing themes. An enraged Sith Lord is not a nice sight which will definitely show.

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><p><strong>Interlude: The Hunter<strong>

The whole extent of the _Leviathan__'__s_ command bridge had silenced.

All beings, ones even distantly capable of any sort of intellectual activity had wisely directed their sight away from the swirl of unfolding events. All sentient creatures had forcefully pushed their concentration to their own tasks, vigorously motivated by the shared intention of not gaining the Dark Lord's unwelcome attention.

All - with the exception of one.

In the deepest core of the events was the massive shape of Darth Malak, the present holder of the mantle of the Dark Lord of the Sith. As a twisted lump of legs and arms, lying almost next to the Dark Lord's metal-clad feet, was the smoldering form of a man. The target of the Dark Lord's rage had lost his ability to form any distinguishable words. His desperate pleads for mercy had gradually turned into wordless, inhuman gurgling - the final stubborn utterances yet gushing out from his dying body and burned lungs.

_Interesting, how long he's had the strength to keep up on making any sound…_

A planet, holding the name Taris, opened before the massive transparisteel viewport of the bridge; a pale orb floating in the dark space. The bluish green surface of the planet created a curious contrast with the red garb which licked the muscular seven feet frame of the Dark Lord. His hulking presence being even amplified above threatening by the cacophony of complementary colors.

The victim whispered out a final moan, his voice muffled by the agony and impending death. If the former soldier still instinctively attempted to move his limbs, his body had long commenced to reject these commands. An electrified brutal storm of hundreds of blue lightings once again materialized from nothingness. And not a single one of them missed their target.

The lone man, observing the events from a far too short distance for the ease of his mind, noted his muscles instinctively pulling his shoulders back when the surge of energy hit the victim. He could feel the wave of the resulting heat tickling his skin although he was standing almost five meters from the Dark Lord; almost at the center of the command bridge. Luckily, the observer thought, the victim would not last long. It was evident the punished soldier's faltering grasp of the life was gliding; his consciousness resigning itself from the stroll of events.

_He will soon be finished. Then it is my turn. _

'Furious' would have been a far too mild term to describe the Dark Lord's emotions. The junior officer, who had performed the unthankful task of bringing the news about the deserted, empty escape pod found in the Undercity of Taris into Darth Malak's knowledge, had paid a horrendous price. The Jedi woman had escaped... Bastila Shan had escaped, and this disappointment had accelerated the Dark Lord somewhere beyond blind rage. Darth Malak was certain to prove as his point that the synonym of failure was death. As it always was.

The intel officer holding the rank of a Lieutenant, clad in a grey Sith officer's uniform, had seen the identical events numerous times during the course of his career. But still, witnessing pure manifestations of Force-enhanced rage had the effect of making the short hairs residing at the back of his neck stand straight up. Normally he would have pitied the victim, at least slightly – most people standing in the near vicinity would have. But he was far too experienced, far too knowledgeable to let hints of these emotions to bubble through the pool of his mind.

Not now – not in his current position.

He could not afford it; could not spare it. The possibility of him following the exact same path as the previous victim lingered as a heavy lump somewhere in the bottom of his stomach. Being ordered to witness this torture – this death – was a part of his punishment, he was certain.

Following a metallic growl, the final sizzling surge of blue Force-born lightning bolts left the Dark Lord's fingers.

_Let__'__s __see __if __the__ Dark__ Lord__ is __merciful. _It was more of a simple statement in his mind than an embodiment of fear.

The Lieutenant kept his posture stiff and did not let his eyes to leave the events, keeping firmly his features expressionless. Knowing that exposing even the slightest hint of weakness would condemn his flesh to experience an identical fate. _If_ it already was not on Malak's agenda.

_Carry yourself straight… or die. It is how it always has been._

The dull glass spreading to the victim's eyes, the Lieutenant noted the light of his life had mercifully been put out. Darth Malak hunched up to his full height, signaling he had completed his gruesome act of power.

"Do you see him?" The metallic voice hit him with the force of a lash. The piercing grey eyes framed with the yellowish skin and the bald, tattoo-covered head had turned their focus towards his features. Most vibrant colors of feelings were lost in the synthesizer-created dark voice, but the Lieutenant encountered no trouble in detecting the venomous taunt behind the words.

The previous time he had seen the Dark Lord, he was still the Apprentice – and still had a jaw tight on its place. The loss of almost half of his face, and being forced to replace it with a metallic prosthesis, had seemingly thrust the Dark Lord even closer balancing on the thin line between sanity and its polar opposite. One single wrong motion – one single mistake in his demeanor, and he was sure the cleaning droids would be scraping his remains from the durasteel floor.

For dark Force users a weakness – a sign of fear - was a prey. Something to play on… and then to feast on. The Lieutenant knew this because he had received his training from the best. From the one whose command over the Force had been at a level beyond others of his kind. But although not as brilliant as his former Master, Malak was not one to be underestimated. Never.

The predator was stalking - Malak was testing him, trying to dig this weakness out from his mind.

"Yes, Lord Malak," he answered steadily. The full threatening attention – the dark aura of hatred radiating from the Dark Lord was nearly overpowering. But he managed to keep his stance and not to budge, not to falter.

"Drag this _carcass_ out of my sight." The artificially created voice – dipped in molten steel – boomed. Two golden-armored troopers sprang into action and hurried to the corpse with a speed only a degree short from running. Still smelling the reek of burned flesh thick in the air, the Lieutenant fought the small muscles on his face back to their places when he felt the incipient grimace pulling his lips back. He forced his training to kick in and cleared the disgust from his mind.

"Lieutenant, I wish you do _not_ fail me this time," the Dark Lord half snarled and half growled. "Bastila Shan's escape was… an unwelcome turn of events. You must ensure that she will leave Taris only in your custody. Let me make myself perfectly clear -" Malak paused momentarily his speech to cross his arms over his chest.

"- alive or _dead_, Lieutenant. You are permitted to use all means necessary."

"Yes, my lord," the Lieutenant stated sharply, feeling his heart to skip a beat. Perfect, he would certainly not die. Yet. It was actually slightly more than he had hoped for.

The ambush of the _Endar__ Spire_ had not gone according to the script. But Taris would offer him a new chance. And what came to Malak's volatile goodwill… the quite obvious _final_ chance. The previous display of punishment had been a threat – something he could mirror his fate from should he fail in this mission.

"Your orders are clear. You may leave." Lacking the interest of sparing any more of his attention to the Lieutenant, with a swirl of the black cape the Dark Lord turned his front direction towards the surface of Taris.

"Thank you, Lord Malak." The Lieutenant directed his salute towards Malak's back and let his steps direct him swiftly out from the command bridge. The Dark Lord would accept no delays. Nor did he hold any desire to stay aboard the _Leviathan _any longer than the pure necessity required.

On his way to the transport vessel the Lieutenant stopped briefly to his quarters and changed swiftly his uniform to something which he could use to blend into the crowd. The dark grey armor he pulled on lacked any Sith insignia and, most of all, the very much infamous one which would link him to the special forces. Attention was something which he wanted to avoid… which he needed to avoid. Surprise and surreptitiousness – the ability to be one with the shadows – were the sharpest edges of his daggers.

Letting his fingers follow motions secured by the strong routine, he checked that the stealth field generator attached to his armor functioned as it should.

_All set. _

He was one of the perfect, aimed weapons in a war against Force sensitive beings. One of the few remaining who had constructed the heart of the elite force trained by none other than Revan himself - the Jedi hunters.

It had been more of a nickname in the beginning, whispered in the hallways of Sith war ships. And then it had established its foothold as the personification of the group equally respected and feared amongst the Sith. The man and women alike – spies, assassins and warriors – trained to shield their presence from Force users. The group united by a single purpose – to gather one of the key resources to Revan's army.

To capture Jedi; to use their own skills against them. To provide Darth Revan the material he needed to build his army of Dark Jedi; the beings he needed to _turn_ to his cause. Or to kill… should they desperately cling to their teachings and continue to reject the _truth_ – like Revan had characterized – like oil rejects water.

More than a mere enemy, Revan had deemed the Jedi useful. He had known the power of defects; seen the strength in rotting the organization from within until nothing more than a thin, fragile shell remained. What Revan had truly despised, was the waste of an utilizable resource - the ideal he and Malak had not fully shared. Although cunning, Malak had always been the one more eager to give in to the hatred and bloodlust…

But these were dangerous thoughts. Yet, although Malak's physical form was located in an entirely different area of the ship, the Lieutenant could almost feel the Dark Lord's eyes drilled to his back. The Dark Lord was still evaluating him, judging his fate from his actions. If the tiniest signal of disloyalty should travel to the Dark Lord's ears and senses…

There probably was less than a handful left from the original group. Since his return, the Lieutenant had heard rumors of deaths and even… defects. He scowled.

With the highest probability, it had eventually played to his advantage. After all, he was the only one of them aboard the _Leviathan_. There were numerous young and hungry Sith assassins aboard and patrolling the surface of the planet. But possibly due to the amount of sheer experience he carried, the weights had tossed to his direction. Even when almost blinded by his rage, Malak had seen his skills were too valuable to be thrown away… for the moment. The Dark Lord's patience – thin already in the beginning – was closing its limits and he had decided to use all assets he could spare in the search for the Jedi on the run.

How many other than him held the proficiency of tracking down one single Jedi from an area which was bordered with nothing less than the skies of a planet?

He stepped to his 'fresher and opened the faucet, filling his cupped hands with water. He washed away the sweat droplets from his face and dried his still moist fingers to his short military-cut hair.

_You still sweat like a little child when you see the Sith Lord's black magic… _

He had seen plenty of death, more than enough. In many occasions, he had held the mantle of _the_ Death himself. Death and torture, agony and the sight of last drops of humanity fleeting the victim were not new to him.

But still. The acts fuelled by the Force, feats smashing all laws of nature and exceeding his understanding made him still feel powerless. Small. Like a gizka which, due to some bizarre twist of fate, was allowed to live in a rancor's nest – hoping the rancor would not turn hungry.

Stepping out of his quarters, the Lieutenant scowled when he spotted a certain item which, looming in its bright colors, was significantly out of place amongst the grey, scarce furnishing of the room. The battle-scarred armor, carrying the colors of orange and brown - his personal token of betrayal and deceit. The suit was lying in the corner, in the place where it had fallen when he had furiously torn it off from covering his body. Finally. Had the circumstances been different, he would have heaved out a long sigh of relief because of the damn strong supposition that this was the last moment the blasted thing got caught to his eyes.

Two years.

Two almost excruciatingly long years had passed since he began his previous mission. Two years of espionage, tapping and carefully sent coded transmissions. The time defined by the endless suspension of being discovered; sometimes of being careful of not even breathing too loud. It had felt more like the will of the Force he had not gotten caught.

He had used these years to infiltrate the ranks of the Republic Navy, finally reaching the rank of a petty junior officer. Each step towards a higher rank had made his task easier. He had more freedom… and an easier access to any data which held even the smallest hint of usefulness within it.

It had been a direct order from Darth Revan. To hide a Jedi hunter amongst the Jedi… Yes – that had been very Revan, indeed.

He did not know why Revan had chosen him for the mission. He had always thought himself more of a war dog; enjoying a direct onslaught more than subtlety, stealth and mind games. Or possibly it had been _the_ reason; his natural talent of giving out an appearance of an unlikely spy. Likely he would never know.

During the Mandalorian Wars the Lieutenant had served under the two heroes, the two Jedi Generals - Revan and…Alek, then. He had seen them fight and bleed, he had witnessed the rise of Republic from the weak and fragile pushover to the victor under their military genius. He had been aboard when their fleet wondered into unknown regions after the gruesome battle of Malachor V. He had given his vow of loyalty, pledged his weapons to their cause when they had declared themselves the Lords of the Sith. And the Lieutenant was damn sure to follow the ruler of the Sith in this war.

After all, he had believed in their cause. Believed in their lead.

Eventually, only the strongest would survive. During the previous months, a rapid wind had brushed through the ranks of the Sith. Had Revan's own ideal turned against him?

The ruling Dark Lord of the Sith had changed during his posting, but he believed when evaluating his actions, he had proved his loyalty towards the current ruler of the Sith. The most obvious fact favouring this option was that he was sill as one piece.

After receiving his transfer to serve aboard the _Endar__ Spire_, it had taken him almost four months before he had been able to send the coordinates and the vector of the ship to the Sith fleet in order for the brass to set up the ambush. Malak had been disappointed about the delay.

Darth Bandon getting injured during the final moments of the _Spire__'__s_ ambush had certainly not improved the Dark Lord's mood. And most of all, Bastila Shan's escape. Securing the capture of the young Jedi, preventing her escape in any manner had been his task – and he had failed.

Possibly dragging the unconscious Darth Bandon out of the _Spire_ prior to the ship turning into a fireball might have saved his life. The Shadow Hand, currently floating in a kolto tank, hadn't regained his consciousness …yet – and the Lieutenant was more than content should his condition stay that way. Hell - he needed to get out of this ship before the man could utter out a single word.

Things certainly had not proceeded as planned; not according to the script he had been writing. And whilst aboard the _Leviathan_, he did not have the opportunity to ponder his observations. He had to keep his thoughts locked; hidden behind trained paths and meticulously learned routines. A hint of a stray thought – a single sway from the direction he had chosen - and the Dark Lord would be breaking to his mind, smashing down his walls, ripping the information straight from his mind…

He had taken a hell of a risk.

One of those kinds which would ultimately result as the closest thing to a payment coming after his flesh should the time come. Actually, even that was probably three times more than what he could hope for the outcome. He was uncertain if he was a half insane or a half out of his mind. Probably both, he concluded.

Nonetheless, if he was to believe his own eyes – and he was virtually sure he would have to – things were about to turn a lot of more complicated than they had seemed in the beginning.

He shouldered his blaster rifle whilst striding up the ramp of the waiting transport vessel. He was ready to take head to head everything what Taris was about to throw to his face.

_When I reach Shan, I will also reach Him. _

_Two Jedi make things a hell of a more complicated than one…_

"Prepare for the take-off. ETA oh six-hundred..."


	6. Fading Boundaries

All previous disclaimers apply.

**A/N:** Thank you, reviewers, for taking the effort! All of your feedback is highly appreciated.

And on with the story…

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><p><strong>Chapter 5. Fading Boundaries<strong>

Life can be curious.

One day you might be guiding your ship amidst the stars, cargo hold full of spice and illegal goods. The next moment you find yourself walking in the wrong side of the enemy lines, your far too conspicuous armor hidden by a slightly too short cloak which has seen its better days. Your memories battered and broken; your thoughts haunted by delicate, yet solemn features of a young woman. Whom you do not recall ever meeting.

Not exactly knowing where your own loyalties lie.

Not exactly certain if the road you have chosen is the road you fully desire to roam.

But your steps driven by the determination of finding the answers to the growing pack of questions you are yet forming inside your mind. Your thoughts rampaging vigorously through past months and years tattooed to your existence. Picking a Hell of a lot of empty holes where memories should have lingered. And observing an equal amount of subtle inconsistencies along the path.

Not manifested as crude displacements of occurrences. Hell – if judged in terms of integrity, the bunch of memories defining my whole life could be compared to a leaking bucket. So no conclusions could be drawn from there. But these were more like detached feelings… Lone, stray thoughts and wandering emotions lacking a cause and a reason.

Or equally, the obvious deficiency of them.

Such as watching my parents' deaths at the hands of Mandalorian raiders as a child – and feeling the equal amount of emotional attachment and horror as seeing an insect being crushed by a boot.

And remembering the thrill of blaster marksmanship at the Republic training camp - but noting the subtle feeling of rightfulness in the weight of the vibroblade hanging on my belt. Perceiving how, in the deepest level, my muscles and joints and reflexes were trained for combating in close quarters; man against man.

Hovering as the most powerful of them was the growing suspicion towards Jedi and their unrevealed agenda, into which I saw my life being sewed by a manner I could not yet fully piece together. The link between me and the order of Force wielders had to linger in a deeper level. Much more than a mere incidental collision of paths of a soldier on a mission gone wrong - and the saviours of his life.

It had to be. _She_ – her face observing my _death_ all those months ago – was the key; the ultimate lead.

For her steel grey eyes were reminiscent of my death as equally as the hatred and bitterness circling the event. This much I could recollect. This I did comprehend.

Curious - indeed…

_If not insane, maybe I am turning as friggin paranoid as Carth... Not a bloody tempting thought. _

Letting my steps guide the way through the darkened alleys of Taris; watching the dark play of shadows created by the artificial lighting, I spotted yet another cantina. The flashing neon sign was marking the place at the end of the street, and a small group of people trafficking in and out through the doors pulled me like a beacon. The fact combining all even remotely urban planets: cantinas were easy places to find life – and always potent locations in terms of gathering information.

…For someone who knew how to ask the right questions.

A quick calculation revealed that the place in question must've been the fourth one during these nightly hours to cross my path. And the small whisper of agitation boiling within my gut had long turned into full-fletched frustration. The progress I had been making hadn't quite been the progress I had been hoping for.

But there was still time until the first seeds of dawn would pave their way above the horizon. There was still time before I needed to return to the abandoned apartment - the dingy hole we called our base of operations. There was still time to gather extra information and for accumulating much needed resources.

There was still time for these thoughts of growing suspicions before I was yet again forced to raise the mask of a loyal Republic soldier; the mask that had been gifted to me by nothing less than the Republic herself. This mask I was to utilize, to exploit its usefulness... until it finally would have served its cause.

Not earlier than the moment when all critical pieces of the puzzle were collected and analyzed -

…_I shall raise this mask to cover my face. For it is the vow I swear. For all of them…_

- No earlier would I decide should the mask stay intact.

Or should it shatter.

Nonetheless, reluctantly I had to admit that so far I was not physically even a foot closer to Bastila than I had been in the beginning of my nightly journey. Well, gathering small pieces of information from here and there was at least something to work on… I had needed something to grab on… something which to point my efforts to. And all rumours and other small strings even remotely related to a lead pointed to the direction of the Undercity. It was obvious the shady, mutant-infested part of Taris was the next logical destination. Straight after the injured Jedi would finally join our merry little war effort.

But so far the way to lower cities of Taris was blocked, sealed, closed. Inevitably, we were stuck. During my nightly trip, I had taken a quick detour to the nearest elevator which led to the lower parts of the city. To my dismay, the doorway to the elevator was guarded by a squad of troopers, checking each and every ID and demanding transfer papers before letting wanderers pass.

_Kriff. _

Entering the elevator would be no way near an effortless task. The Sith knew that in order to escape the planet, the Jedi would need to proceed to the Upper City. Securing all the entrances with a mass of golden-armored soldiers had been first sensible step. After all, they had not conquered a half of the galaxy by being unpractical.

And there were more of them.

Carth had not been exaggerating when providing me his warning – the Sith were truly patrolling in large numbers. At some point I had lost track of the number of patrols I had encountered.

Mostly the golden-armored groups had been near effortless to avoid. Sometimes by choosing to follow the path painted by shadows and utilizing native obstructions provided by walls of tall buildings. At others, keeping my posture calm and straight and meeting their curious stares with a glance of my own; letting tiny gestures signal a carefully crafted appearance of a wanderer who held no secrets.

_Sometimes, when you truly wish to hide – disappear in the plain sight._

Noting their obvious lack of interest towards my persona, the Jedi woman must've been their top priority. Relentlessly, they were searching. Hunting. The Jedi was still on the loose.

I fought the urge to grit my teeth when I spotted another group of three golden-armored troopers turning from an opposing intersection; walking with a long stride of rhythmical determination. This time, I did not have the opportunity of redirecting my steps towards another alley without raising suspicions so I chose to face them.

And apparently, this patrol chose to face me, as a single golden-armored hand rose as if pronouncing a silent 'halt'. Without hesitation, I stopped and was soon surrounded by the three soldiers, all of them keeping the other hand on the hilt of a blaster rifle. Although the Sith armor hid the actual form of a body well, I noted one of them had a more slender, feminine figure. A woman, perhaps?

"You there - seen or heard anything noteworthy tonight?" one of them grumbled.

"Depends on what you consider _noteworthy,_" I answered steadily. "The Twi'lek dancer at the cantina a couple of blocks away was something I'd call noteworthy," I continued, grinning. The mild joke bounced off.

"This one's not one of the locals..." one of them observed. Yes – the soldier was definitely a 'she'.

"Sir, I'd like to see some ID," she continued in a demanding manner, her speech gaining a slight spike of tension. Unlike her companions, her forearm carried an insignia of an officer.

"No doubt I don't seem like a local..." I answered steadily. "I am not even supposed to be on this friggin dump for a planet. A day and a half ago I was _en __route _to Arkania, stopped to refuel and got caught in the middle of this little blockade of yours with nothing more important to do than to check out the local nightlife..."

I let out a small sigh to signal slight frustration.

"But sure. The ID…" I continued calmly and slipped slowly my hand to an imaginary chest pocket just under the cloak, as if searching for something. Cautious not to reveal any parts of the orange-brown armor hidden underneath. Knowing that events would take a somewhat drastic turn, should they spot even the slightest hint of orange.

The Sith troopers observed me with curiosity when I burst out a long row of curses in Huttese.

"Is there a problem?" one of the male soldiers asked, the tone of his voice showing a hint of suspicion. His posture was revealing increasing tension.

I groaned. "I must have left the kriffin' card to my ship."

I paused for a moment as if considering. "But I say… we _could_ take a quick tour there if you are interested to take a look at the paper?"

_I need to break that formation… Bite into the bait… Let's get you moving…_

The soldiers glanced at each other, taken aback by the proposal.

"No need," one of the men answered roughly and I saw my plans take a shattering blow. "I think we need to take this one up for interrogation." He directed his words to the other male soldier. His comrade gave him a slight nod. The female officer stood silently and showed no signs of disapproval.

_Damn._

"Keep your hands in sight." The soldier ordered.

"Turn around. You will come with us. Resistance will result as immediate use of force." The other one accompanied. Strictly.

I let out a long sigh of frustration as the other male soldier trained his blaster pistol towards my chest. "Just my luck." I muttered audible enough for them to distinguish my words as I raised my hands slightly in order to fake an appearance of willingness to cooperate.

Not enjoying the thought of lunging into a battle with a blaster at point-blank range from my chest, I needed to distract them. Somehow.

"- Although, I do not mind to be _interrogated_ the slightest ...should the interrogator be the _right _person," I continued in a lighter manner, forcing my most charming smile on my lips and directed a wink towards the female soldier. Now it did not matter if she carried features of a Hutt.

Noting the overt gesture, one of the men grumbled out a small burst of laughter. Amazed by the sudden turn of events, they did not notice my right hand – still keeping the recently adopted stance of docility – slowly creeping towards the vibroblade at my side. The weapon was still hidden beneath the cloak.

"Well, well. At least this one's got guts. It is refreshing to see something else than local Kath Hounds grovelling at our feet." It was one of the men.

"In my opinion you are just doing your job. No hard feelings about that." I shrugged, still forcing my lips to curve in a form of a smile. Under the cloak, my muscles had tensed. I would go for the rifle, I decided. The resulting surprise might give me just enough time to dodge upcoming blaster bolts.

The need to act never came. Even for me the sound of feminine laughter processed through the vocabulator of a Sith helmet was something new.

"Lower your weapons, troopers. I think this is enough – clearly he doesn't have anything to hide," the female trooper stated, a hint of laughter yet lightening her tone. She opened her visor; the opening in her helmet revealing rather young features and strands of ginger hair. Her lips had curved into a genuine smile. She directed a nod towards a nearby wall, gesturing me to follow. My head swirling with astonishment, I obeyed; feeling stares of the male troopers drilled to my back.

"I am Sarna, Junior Officer First Class," she introduced herself and offered me a hand.

"Matt – a single person attempt at making some success in the transportation business," I lied fluently and shook her hand. Her grip was firm.

"My shift is ending early tomorrow," she said. "I might go and check that cantina over there. You think the place is worth visiting?"

I spotted the hint with ease. I smirked.

"Absolutely," I replied, considering suddenly opened new possibilities inside my mind. "But only in case _you_ still want to go on with that _interrogation_." I continued with a sly smile on my face.

Sarna chuckled. "I might like that. You know – you are not the only one fed up with this planet."

"Then consider it a deal, darling. We can continue this discussion about how horrible place this is…let's say - tomorrow after the sunset?"

"You might find me there. If you are lucky…" Her voice had gradually lowered to a soft purr, which left me without any doubt of whether or not she actually would show up.

"Sorry about the boys. They go a little trigger-happy now with all these Republic fugitives running around," Sarna explained before turning to join her group.

"Understandable. I wish you good luck with your hunt," I countered. She answered with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

"Troopers, let's move!" Her order reached my ears. The patrol moved on, last glimpses of golden-shaded armors disappearing to an intersection.

_Now that was something._

It was almost a shame I would have to try to use the girl. Almost.

I had to admit I had liked Sarna. In addition to features quite the opposite from a Hutt, she had carried a certain aura self-confidence. Had the circumstances been different, I would have taken her offer more seriously. But now. Now my ambitions were directed to the still sealed doors of the elevator. And a card holding the face of a Sith officer was far too potent to be left without turning. Should I play my turns correctly, she could lead me to the exact place which was a single step closer to locating Bastila.

A burst of laughter left my lips.

_Carth's going to tear his pants when he hears that I have a date with a Sith officer... _

I could not help but smile when approaching doors of the cantina.

* * *

><p>The cantina was nicely crowded; easy to blend in to the mass of different accents, features and clothing. Mostly humans. Only aliens I had spotted were either musicians or dancers, mainly Twi'lek. The quarantine the Sith had placed was not the only one of its kind predominant in Taris. Doors of elevators were not closed only for us.<p>

After maneuvering my way through the thick crowd, I ordered a pint of Tarisian ale from the counter and chose an empty table beside one of walls restricting the central room of the cantina. Giving an extensive view over the central room, it was a perfect location for observing. Weighting and analyzing all beings in the room. In locations like this, beings relaxed after a pint, two or more, they would eventually reveal more of themselves than they would ever know.

Faintly, I could distinguish a cheering crowd somewhere in intersecting rooms. Duelling was a common practice, a popular form of entertainment in Taris. And after observing a couple of rounds of local cantina battles, I had been certain it would have been an easy source for a couple of extra credits. However, still the Republic armor covering my frame, it also would have been an excellent choice for attempting suicide.

I took a sip from the pint and played with the strong taste with my tongue. At least the ale was not too bad on this planet.

So mainly I had settled with refreshing my skills in pazaak – the game which was a heritage of my past: dozens of cantinas located to an almost equally large amount of planets I had visited. Playing against people who had dulled their senses with alcohol was almost like mugging them in a stranded alley and leaving their pockets empty. Mostly.

Pazaak was not very close to an efficient way of making money, and quite far from what would have been my choice. But at least gambling came without any attachments. I could come, clear the table and leave before my features were imprinted to memories of other players. Of course I could not win every game I played. But during the course of the night, my pocket had showed positive signs of increasing in weight.

In addition to credits, and far more importantly, information was often won in these gatherings of random people. Rumors concerning movements and motives of the Sith, crashed escape pods and the name of a certain local businessman were mentioned more than once. And a couple of offered rounds for fellow players during a certain game had provided hints of whereabouts of a few potential individuals skilled in forgery of IDs.

_If things happen quickly – two days and we could be moving. Perhaps sooner without the Jedi. _

Without the Jedi… Now - _that_ was a thought to consider.

Irrevocably, the Jedi would keep our feet firmly on the top floor of the city at least for a while. The visit to Zelka Forn's practice few hours ago had proved as much.

The Jedi was not moving herself an inch without Zelka's permission. And the good old doctor was not going to gift her one in upcoming hours. He had been very strict, and a tiny part of me had enjoyed the scene when the doctor had ordered the Jedi to one of the beds located in the backroom of the practice, utterly ignoring her objections.

_By the Force, sometimes Jedi tend to amaze me. _

When I had arrived - much to the doctor's dismay - Sandra had occupied one of the one and a half man high kolto tanks; floating in her undergarments, completely surrounded by the bluish thick liquid. Although a half of her face had been covered by a breathing apparatus, her features were set to a calm, almost serene expression. Already then, after only a day's worth of kolto treatment, the net of injuries on her back had partly healed. The skin was sewing itself back together, wounds disappearing under fresh skin; darker lines of fresh scars only whispering dulling screams of the incident which had torn her flesh apart.

I mentally grimaced at the memory. Still almost smelling the sharp stench of the cocktail of sterile and kolto thick in the air, I could not fully banish the mental trail which led to my own bed at the Enclave. To days when identical stenches had been definitions of my daily environment.

Suddenly, as if sensing my presence, the injured Jedi had opened her eyes. Clear emerald orbs had locked into mine with a sharp gaze.

I well remembered Zelka's astonished yelp, when the red-haired patient had gestured in a very clear-minded manner to be freed from the interiors of the tank. Although her body had been pumped full of narcotic drugs, effects caused by those were now gone. She showed no panic, no clouded thoughts, not even the slightest fear.

Kolto was known for its ability to accelerate healing process above excellent. Subjected to correct treatments, form could be restored to even limbs torn from all flesh. But when this was added to Jedi's own Force-induced ability to heal, effects were abnormal.

Sandra was probably going to walk away from her horrific injuries with small scars, only barely distinguishable to a naked eye.

_How __in __the__ bloody__ Hell__ – __their__ bodies_ infused_ with __this __kind __of __an ability__ to __heal__ – __they__ are __not __winning __this __war? __As__ if __they __have __been __too __isolated,__ completely__ detached__ from__ war__… _

_Probably __the __only __half __of__ them__ which __could __do__ some__ actual __battle __switched__ allegiances __all __those __years __ago._

When judging Sandra's rate of healing, 'abnormal' had been the word crossing also Zelka Forn's mind.

"Rumours tell me the Sith are searching for a young woman. A Jedi." The dark-skinned elder man's deep voice had lowered to the level of a whisper although the thick durasteel doors of the backroom were solid enough for keeping all noises inside.

"She may stay here until I consider her condition stable enough. Then I will ask her to be moved immediately."

"I understand," I had replied dryly, sharing equaling thoughts.

Twelve hours of kolto treatments. It had been Zelka's condition. Sandra had objected and insisted in the obstinate manner which very well defined her that resting a few hours her body subjected to a healing trance - some sort of a Jedi meditation skill - was sufficient. The doctor had not bent.

Twelve hours.

The frustrated part of me was prepared to move on without the Jedi should the need arise. After all, at the moment – still recovering from her injuries - she was a hindrance. The cynical part of my brain even criticized saving her life in the first place. Why to save one of _them_…one of my _captors_?

…_Jedi are not to be trusted... You should have left her behind. _

The part of me which had carried her injured body, without a second thought, to the escape pod aboard the _Spire_ did not consider abandoning her an option. Nor would Carth, without a doubt.

_The Jedi better turn out useful or I will have to regret my decision. _

Most importantly, the visit to Zelka Forn's practice had given me the mental certainty of the doctor's reliability. He was an unexpected ally on a hostile planet; lead to us by faith, accident, luck, Force or what in the kriff ever. The man had dipped his own skin too deep into this mess for being able to change his direction. I was content to go with that.

As Carth had mentioned, Sandra was not Zelka's only light-repelling patient. In addition to the Jedi, the doctor had managed to hide two more Republic soldiers to the backrooms of his apartment. Battered bodies of these men had floated in the two remaining kolto-tanks. Although, stripped from their Republic armors and now wearing typical sick garments, they would have passed as normal patients. Unless the horrifying nature of their injuries – multitudes of broken bones, cuts and gnashes - had not betrayed them as victims of a crash landing for someone possessing an analytic eye.

Should the Sith find their way there, to the backroom of his practice, they would know.

The men did not share the equal luxury with Sandra – they would never leave the tanks alive. The doctor had explained that he was only trying to let them spend their final hours in an as humane manner as possible. The man had taken an enormous risk. Zelka was playing a massive gamble, nothing less than his own life at stake, for a couple of soon-to-be corpses.

It was unusual…no, amazing.

_It__ is__ a__ waste__ –_ the cynical part of my mind replied. _An __equally __humane __way __for __them __to __go __would __have __been __to __end __their __lives __there __in __the__ remains __of __the __escape __pod. __It __is __such __a __waste __to __use __resources, __to __take __the __risk __of __losing __your __life __for__ someone __who __is__ not __going __to__ survive._

Empathy in the form of a useless sacrifice had never kept me alive.

…_Empathy is a weakness in a battle in which only the strongest may survive. You know that. _

_Does a Kath Hound feel empathy when lunging to rip the throat of the other male threatening its pack? Would a soldier in an A-wing be capable of shooting a capital ship down - if feeling empathy for the crew of thousands?_

_No war can be won without sacrifices. But neither are they won by throwing a life away by performing unneeded heroics. _

_Wars can be fought for survival of yourself; of others. But never are they won with empathy… _

Plain mathematics I could understand. Sacrificing one to save a hundred, or sacrificing a thousand to save millions – _there_ was certain logic. But a pure waste of a life for nothing… In the deepest level, a part of me _despised_ it.

I took another sip of dark Tarisian ale, freshly provoked questions swirling in my head; now heavily darkening my mood.

When did I start to despise pointless heroics, as I now considered those acts of selflessness? Only a few months ago I would have thrown my life away for the Republic; for the ideal of a galaxy free of all Sith.

…_Pathetic__…_ A lone sting of the most bitter despise.

When did I start to _despise_ Jedi?

When…?

…_Not 'when', is it? The correct question is - 'why'… _

My thoughts were interrupted when I spotted a group of people starting a game of pazaak in the opposing corner of the room.

* * *

><p><em>Bloody Schutta! <em>

I had decided to leave the cantina not long after an incident which had started to turn far too many curious glances towards my direction. My steps amplified by rage, lips turned to an almost-grimace, I stormed to a nearby weapons store which had opened its doors barely moments ago.

_Brat! _

I collected my rage when I noticed the inquiring glance, directed from the lone saleswoman towards my persona.

"I need some armor. Show me what you've got," I growled, irritated.

Only when observing the selection of armors, looming in different colours and degrees of protection, I could feel the boiling rage finally loose its sharpest edge. I decided to exchange a part of gathered credits to two suits which I roughly estimated to match to Sandra and Carth's measurements. Nothing fancy, but a portion of the protection would come in the form of new colours. Something stronger for the older soldier, a light battle suit for the Jedi. Lightsaber wielders were known to enjoy fighting in almost-pajamas and Sandra was no exception. For myself, I decided to go with a compromise when I spotted a black battle suit which offered adequate protection without restricting my movements too much.

And the color harmonized with my current mood with precise perfectness.

Before tossing the suits to an equipment bag, I added a pair of light metal vambraces - painted to the shade of dull black - to the load.

_These__ will__ come__ handy __when __fighting __man-against-man._

The storm in my mind had calmed when I left the shop; the weight of the equipment bag on my back. A strand of lighter shade of blue had painted its way across the horizon. Dawn was approaching and the patience of a certain Republic Commander was probably already growing thin.

Yet… Somehow, for reasons I could not root out, I felt anxious… Something was amiss.

I shook my head, ramming my focus collected. My thoughts were trying to grow legs and run into a dozen different directions at once. Perhaps it was the time for me to admit I was beginning to tire. After all, a few hours of unconsciousness were not comparable to actual rest. Perhaps the one more skull-scraping blow to my head was finally starting to take its toll.

Prior to choosing the way which would eventually lead to the hideout, and still remembering Onasi's request, I stopped to a local store and added a few cans of basic food rations to my pack. A few hours back, I had taken a full use of the advantage of replenishing my body to replace the energy drained from it during the hours before. But no doubt the Commander's emergency rations were running low.

The streets were slowly turning desolate of other walkers as Taris enveloping my path evolved to show some of the less fortunate parts of the Upper City. Numerous apartment complexes piled on top of each other, shelled by tall buildings; all screaming the equal need for maintenance.

But the surrounding scenery was not of interest, as the world itself had shifted and evolved into a full-grown scream from a sense I did not know myself possessing.

No longer were my thoughts tormented by the lack of focus.

No longer could I ignore the feeling of slight weight pressing against my sternum. It was not frustration. Nor was it agitation.

It was a warning. It _had _always _been_ a warning; a warning manifested from the pure instinct feeding itself from the world surrounding me.

Knives of hostile intents were buried into my back as I kept my pace constant, not letting a change in my demeanor to voice out that I was aware of them. My steps were followed – I was completely certain. Surprise was the advantage I was going to take when an opportunity was given. This was not going to be an exception.

My suspicions of hostile followers were proven true when the street divided into an intersection before my eyes. It was not earlier than this, when my ears started to distinguish faint steps behind my back, closing in with an increasing, determined, deadly rhythm. Three… maybe four, I counted. Not humans. Definitely not humans.

_Five seconds._

I turned to the shelter provided by the intersection and lowered my carryings slowly to the dirty duracrete pavement; careful not to let an unintended clank to reveal my exact location.

_Two seconds._

My hands were now clutched around the hilt of the vibroblade and I let them glide into a familiar fighting stance. As soon as the intruders reached the intersection, my lips revealing a grimace, I lunged into an attack.

There were three of them. Two of them were not humans – and I had suspected as much. The faint musky scent had reached my nostrils before I had been able to take a clear visual of them.

The third was an all too familiar face. A sharp sting of hatred pierced my chest.

_So the Schutta actually stayed true to her threats… _

The attack of the first Rodian ended to a lizard-like wordless scream of agony, when his blaster pistol – his fingers still clutched around the hilt – obeying the force of gravity, found itself on the ground. His head followed an almost-identical trajectory when I lunged my blade into another sharp-edged arc, utilizing the momentum gained during the first blow. His lifeless corpse followed soon behind, falling to pile on top of the gruesome heap. _A __bloody__ twisted __puppet__ show._

A row of teeth bit my left forearm.

The second Rodian had been a few steps behind the first one and was able to send a couple of rounds of red death towards my frame before I yet again found cover behind the intersecting wall. I discarded the vibroblade in favor of my blaster pistol as red bolts whizzed across the intersection. I had the cover, I had the advantage.

And I could be _bloody_ patient if I wanted to.

Counting the rhythm of the desperately sent flying shots, I waited for an opening. When it came in the form a millisecond long pause, my target was in the sights of my blaster. After two shots, the Rodian lay on the ground, fresh holes gaping in his head and chest, a growing pool of his life-liquids spreading to give the ground a darker shade.

The young woman who had previously accompanied the attackers was already running, the thumping of her desperate feet trying to gain distance. In panic; her luxurious clothing forming a multicolored lump around her legs. Far from the attempted elegance - bought with only a ship-load worth of credits - she had showed during our previous encounter.

_Pathetic, rich idiot!_

She would die. She would pay the ultimate price for harassing my territory - for daring to attack me! For daring _to cross_ my way. For ruining my plans at the cantina with her pitiful acts. The rage boiled now fully inside my soul, its flames burning every inch of my body.

I lifted the blaster and took her calmly in the sight, each and every cell in my body relishing in the thought of her soon-to-be dead corpse thumping to the ground when I would pull the trigger.

_Go and run. Run the final feet of your life, di'kut._

My lips turned into a full grimace, I did not notice the faint growl leaving my lips.

But I hesitated. My index finger seized its movement before unleashing the final pull of the trigger.

_Is the revenge worth a murder?_

With a twist of my thumb, I reset the blaster to stun and let a sinister smile spread to my lips when her body froze up and she fell down with a soft thump. I could think of other forms of revenge. Even better ones than ending her miserable life with one clean pull of the trigger.

I took my time when gathering the Rodian thugs' weapons before redirecting my attention to the woman lying on the ground. She was still suffering from the temporary paralyzation caused by the stun bolt, and would be for a while yet. Her eyes were wide open, an expression of terror frozen to her face.

The stench of fear, I could almost smell it. Something within me reached, grabbed it, relished in it.

If a slight objection could be heard from my conscience, I was able to ignore it completely when going through her possessions and transferring her credit chips into my own pockets.

"Consider this a repayment, _darling,_" I stated slowly, my voice dipped in venom before taking a look at her ID card.

"Gana Lavin." I read the name from the card out loud. She probably did not hear me, nor did it matter. The message would be evident, nonetheless.

"I propose this is the last time our roads will ever cross. Next time – should the next time come - I will not be as merciful." Followed by a mocking flip of my hand, the ID card fell on her stiffened body. Accompanied by the mutilated corpses of Rodian thugs – illegal aliens – she would have a good time explaining when Sith arrived to the scene. A lot of explaining. Hopefully much more than her high-ranking protectors could stand up to.

_If _the Sith were the first to arrive. I carried neither the means nor the intention of affecting _who _or _what_ were to cross this road next. Taris was a city full of dark intentions, as were all places where men walked. Her fate was not of my concern.

Without sparing her another glance, I grabbed the equipment bag and left the scene with swift steps. Now fully determined to make my way to the hideout as quickly as possible.

I could not care less if their only object had been to beat me up 'to show me my place'. Or had they been on the way to kill me. The price had been paid.

_First mistaking me as a waiter, then making a scene at the cantina… Then this. What a bloody idiot. _

It had started as a misunderstanding. It had evolved into her throwing insults at me, and myself snapping at her to leave me alone. It had ended with a threat: a promise of a lesson to be taught regarding how a lady of her stature should be treated. But never would have I guessed that she would actually send a pack of bloodsuckers after my footsteps.

When I finally arrived to the familiar apartment complex, the fiery rage spreading its flames within my soul had finally died and turned into crossfire of contradicting emotions.

A smuggler and a thief – maybe. A murderer – no.

I had never killed another being in cold blood, unless in a situation demanding acts of self-defense or war. Nor could I recall ever to have killed because of anger, hatred. Because of rage. Because of revenge.

But this Lavin-chick had unleashed something within me, unshackled desires I could not identify myself with. I had wanted… no – I had _thirsted_ for the moment when the dull glass of death spread to her eyes. I had drank from her fear and relished in it. I had desired for her agony and the final, ultimate awareness when her brain, dimming to death, would understand…that I had won.

A new realization hit me like a wall of duracrete and I had to stop. I heaved in a long breath in order to steady my thoughts.

_I have not enjoyed killing…not before the Endar Spire._

Only now did I recollect the feeling of cold amusement when I had watched the deaths of the squad of Sith troopers from the surveillance monitor aboard the _Spire_. When I had triggered the power cord into exploding to a deadly storm of shrapnel. The feeling of holding one's life and death in my hands…it was power.

There was a shadow, a taint within my soul. Something, which had been hidden; sealed away, yet always present. The shadow was emerging, I could not deny. It was an unsettling thought.

This man who carried the shadow within his soul was not the Eldran Daraz I remembered. This man was not even the man who had regained consciousness at the Jedi Enclave only a half a year ago.

But there was the saying that war can and will affect a man. There was the saying that war can turn men into animals.

Was I slowly turning into those beings I despised? I had always justified my actions by _necessity_, by a need. Hell – I was in the middle of a war. I could not be too picky over the means which would eventually lead me to my target. But was I slowly gliding across the line after which necessity was only a disguise for atrocities?

_Indecisiveness__ is__ weakness._ I could recollect myself saying those words somewhere in my past, not remembering the location or the time, and now they had come mockingly back to me.

Exceeding all mixed emotions crisscrossing inside my mind, was the feeling of deepest despise.

_Now__ I__ am__ a__ mere__ pawn__ -_ the cynical part of my mind scoffed.

_A pathetic pawn. A mere puppet. A weak marionette – letting your emotions hold the strings which control you._

…_Letting others forge your way… Letting _**them**_ control you..._

…_When control is the utmost power. It is the trait which always has differentiated you from pawns. Puppets._

I shook my head in disgust.

_Get a hold of yourself, soldier!_

I had not noted my right hand clutching, fingers bending. I growled and discharged all the anger gathered within my soul by unleashing a fierce blow to the hard stony surface of the nearby wall.

I did not know whether I was more angry towards myself – my inability to control my emotions – or the cynical, sociopathic man-shaped monster I sensed somewhere deep within my mind.

Only after when the adrenaline was leaving my body, I noted the pain in my left hand. The brown cloak covering my forearm was a degree darker from the blood which had leaked from the fresh gnash tearing my skin. A scratch gashed by a stray blaster bolt; nothing which would hinder my movements too much.

I did not care. Physical pain was something I could live with.

The monster. The looming, prowling… the _seducing_ shadow I was more concerned of.

_The friggin greatest lunatic walking the surface of this planet. That's what I am._

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:** Please review!

Yes – the true colors of the 'inner Darth Revan' start to reveal themselves… It is probably quite clear by now, but this will not be a 'knight-in-the-shining-armor' type of a story.

Let's see what happens next when the flashbacks will start to become increasingly obvious. At least, for the pawn, ignoring them will no longer be an option…


	7. A Look Into the Gallery of Ghosts

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**A/N: **Oops, an update.

I probably should inform you that I actually am alive. It's been quite a while… But hopefully you all have not forgotten about this story. I have not, and all those reviews, alerts and favs popping every now and then to my e-mail box have kept the story fresh in my mind. So thank you all for your continuous positive feedback – it really keeps this story worth writing.

As you'll notice, this chapter will introduce a format which was previously hinted in the chapter featuring 'the Hunter' and of which you'll be seeing more in the future. I intend to use a mix of first and third person views in order to gain more flexibility when featuring some of the other characters and events. According to the feedback on my other story, it has worked quite well. I hope you'll like it too.

And on with the story…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: A Look Into the Gallery of Ghosts<strong>

Victory.

There are few instincts, which come as naturally to a human being as the pursuit for victory. Perhaps it is reminiscent from times when man was nothing more than a beast: fighting because of the purest definition of survival. To kill… in order to live.

Thus, victors are praised. Loved. Remembered.

Yet, victory is not always what one should pursue. Because it is not the one who wins the battle that is counted.

Only - and let me stress that word. Only the one who wins the war has any significance.

Because those occasions do exist when a strategic retreat at a single battle - a defeat born of a decision - can turn the tides of a whole war.

…

But I was not to tell a story of victory or glory.

_You are an idiot, Daraz, _I thought bitterly. _Luckily I do not need to enjoy this…_

Crossfire of sharp edged shadows at my feet and the perfectly balanced vibroblade clutched in my hands, I was swimming in familiar waters. I let the blade sweep the empty air a couple of times to perfect the balance and to ready my muscles for the upcoming.

Exited cries emanating from the audience were a thick barricade of noise surrounding my persona and the opening, a square of twenty five to twenty five meters carved into duracrete I was standing in. For them, it was an arena of sweat and pain, of excitement and battle. For myself, it was a location of dull necessity. And let's spice that with some sheer idiocy.

_I work my ass off to keep myself hidden… And then I force myself in the middle of a kriffin' crowd which cries out my name. _

Yes – someone actually might call that stupid.

But, for the moment that acknowledgement actually was not at the center of my focus. Because on the other side of the arena was another man. A grey-haired older veteran of the Mandalorian Wars; a wide-shouldered man tempered by metal and blood. The slender, blunted durasteel blade danced also in his hands with grace… Grace bought only by experience.

A planned battle always follows a certain flow of patterns. It begins with a moment of evaluation – a moment of rooting out the potential weaknesses of the opponent. Until one takes the first step. Until one plunges a blade to the first hit or pulls the trigger to unleash the first bolt.

Usually it is the impatient one.

This time it took only a half of a heartbeat for the man to react. He closed the distance between us aggressively, a growl leaving his lips, pushing his blade towards my torso. The attack was just slightly overly hungry, I noted with calculative, automated thoughts. The blade painted a subtly too wide arc…

No. I had a part to play.

Adrenaline flooding my system I responded with a fierce defensive swing, turning his blade away from its intended vector and redirecting the gained momentum to shatter his balance. As I suspected, he responded by taking a quick step back; stealing his blade from the bite of mine and lunging it into a new series of quick blows. Our blades met with a series of clanks when metal clashed into metal.

I could feel him watching and judging me - the information provided by his eyes processed by his brains. As I was judging him. He was waiting for the first opening. The first error.

As was I.

Increasing the belligerence of parrying blows, I was working to turn the direction of the battle. The sudden surge of speed packed into the final upwards pointed strike destroyed his rhythm and gave me just enough opening to unleash a series of attacks.

After all, the crowd had to be given something.

In its most beautiful form, a duel is a carefully built and planned rhythm of Death. When battling in close quarters – man against man – it is always about the anticipation. It is about reading the opponent; letting his intents be revealed by small, involuntary hints voiced out by his body language. No man walks this galaxy who does not have a weakness, a flaw in their combat form. The defect just needs to be hunted down… And when that happens, it is the moment of setting the trap.

…And letting him spring it before he even notices stepping into it.

My final attack was directed towards his shoulder and he sidestepped it just barely. The golden-shaded blade took a horizontal turn and glanced off my quick parry. I did not miss the routine imprinted into his actions. He was good, I had to admit. But forcing him to give one step of the ground, there was enough space for me to take the next offensive.

The barricade of noise had long exploded into a bloodthirsty cacophony. Evolved from the form of a river to a full ocean.

I charged with ferocious blows, aiming for his throat with aggressive series of slashes. A brutal, insolent attack - an attack of a fighter thirsting for victory.

And it was the mistake I made.

The hole left into my defense was an obvious target and my experienced opponent utilized it with infallible certainty. I managed to grit my teeth and tense the muscles of my abdomen just a half a second before the blunted blade impacted my left side. Air escaped my lungs and I staggered, fighting to keep my balance. Another blow, which followed barely a blink of an eye later, destroyed everything I took for stability.

Suddenly the horizon found a totally new location, as the ground was a solid wall behind my back. I could feel the hilt of the blade quietly slipping from my loosened grip when the blunt, metallic blade found its home on my throat. Forcefully closing all airways. I shuddered when the impact at my neck launched a series of coughs, which could not find their way out.

_Just… slightly… more weight… and…_

"The Stranger is down! Young hunger is beaten by experience – Marl is the victor!"

I could make out the announcer and the thundering audience only barely. Mercifully, the pressure on my neck was gone. My ears were ringing and I grasped the air compulsively, pulling long breaths to fill up my lungs again. A strong arm and an open palm appeared to my field of vision. I took the offered hand and found myself yet again in upright position when Marl pulled me back on my feet.

"You were a good opponent, Stranger, " Marl voiced out. The tall, muscular dueling veteran did not try to hide the grin cracking his rugged features. I could detect the relief in his posture. Had even Marl seen the possibility of not walking out of this fight as a winner?

I, on the other hand, felt like breaking a couple of necks. _What a waste_, I thought cynically. But the price had to be paid and although I was not exactly overjoyed and radiating proudness, the job was done. I had completed what I had to.

"You've got some potential there, lad. Practice a couple of years… and who knows? You might even be collecting all the cash then."

The grey-haired man directed me an approving short nod, still letting the wide grin dominate his features.

"I think I'm done with this _activity_," I answered truthfully, my voice still partially broken due to the tentacles of irritation crawling inside my throat.

I shook his hand firmly, letting my demeanor to congratulate him instead of words. My acting skills had their limits and due to the dark storm gathering inside my mind they were closing in. The adrenaline was leaving my body and incipient spikes of pain were jolting from my chest – a clear protest from my ribs concerning the role in the act as the main target for Marl's blade that I had imposed for them.

Nothing seemed to be broken and as far I was concerned I could live with a few bruises. Rarely anything was free and this time I had conducted the payment with my skin. I did not care. It was the price I had been willing to pay.

"_I am disappointed of you, Stranger. I would have thought that with those skills you showed when battling Ice, you would have beaten Marl with ease. But you had to go and mess up instead of doing what you were supposed to do," _Ajuur wheezed in Huttese when we were standing in front of the duel master. Although Huttese was a useless language for evincing anything subtler than rage or amusement, the message was clear nonetheless. The Hutt did not wish to see me in the cantina again.

"_I even put down a few credits on you, Stranger. And I lost my money."_

The pseudonym had been Ajuur's idea. In the Hutt's mind it gave out an appearance of someone mysterious – a man with some dark secret shadowing his past. I had found the unintended irony amusing.

"My apologies," I answered dryly, completely lacking the urge of putting any actual meaning behind my words, but hiding the coldness which was creeping into my voice. No need to make the Hutt an enemy - although the species itself had the tendency of nauseating me and I would have not shed a tear had they disappeared from the galaxy. A planet full of Sith functioned well to fulfill the purpose of making my days somewhat interesting, I thought dryly.

"_Now, go. And be pleased that I am not sending my dogs after you."_

I obliged, empty handed and the peak my thoughts already directed to the location of my companions. If Carth had succeeded, it was finally the time to wash the dust of the Upper City from our clothes and move deeper into the rotten heart of Taris.

It was the time when things were supposed to start getting hectic.

* * *

><p>Against the wishes whispered by my somewhat battered body, I spent an hour or two traversing meaninglessly around the Upper City. It was a necessary precaution, taken in order to get rid of possible pests shadowing my back. One learns quite quickly not to trust a Hutt. Very often too late.<p>

But in addition I had my personal reasons.

The constant, twisted feeling of a déjà-vu nagging at the back of my skull had finally manifested into something I could decipher. Somewhere in the background, somewhere behind those tall buildings was… Had been…

…_War. A barrage of fierce explosions lights the skyline. We are advancing. _

_I walk. With hasted steps._

_The young girl is in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder. Silent and asleep, her large, catlike eyes are peacefully closed. She is light as a feather, weighting very much too little for her years. I know that the rags that cover her far too thin, emaciated body hide also the bruises on her skin. Signs of violence. Handprints of a cruel, despicable master. _

_To me, she is no slave. To me she is the last of her kind. A faint breath of hope long lost._

_A sensation of pain jolts from my shoulder, from the bolt wound dug within my flesh hours back. For me, the pain is nothing – the injury is just another inconsiderable addition to my personal collection of its kind. One hundred battles and an equivalent amount of poorly slept nights burn within my muscles._

_I do not care. A man's pain is insignificant. _

_I reach my object and come to a halt. The girl does not awaken when I gently give her to the woman's arms. She takes her._

_Blood blemishing the red vambraces covering my arms is drying. Turning dark. _

"_She needs something to eat and drink. Ensure that she is transported to safety," I say. _

_My voice does not give out any emotion. It is flat and toneless, the vocalizer of my helmet efficiently functioning as a wall hiding the truth. In reality the death of an entire species is a weight on my shoulders. My voice is thick with sorrow._

_I remember so very well why I am fighting… _

The memory was so powerful that I had to stop. Seize my steps. My throat was as dry as a piece of cardboard forgotten to the desert of Tatooine and my heart was voluntarily trying to bang its way out of my ribcage.

This was wrong.

Hell – something was so kriffin' wrong that I would soon have to come up with a new definition for wrongness. Because galactic basic sure did not give it enough credit.

The rest of the memories sitting inside my head were telling a different story. Battles of Taris had never been a part of my journey. Neither of them. As a matter of fact I had been very motivated and even resourceful in order to keep my ass exactly at the opposite side of the galaxy.

Within my memories there was no place for a woman in Republic uniform. Nor did there exist a small alien girl. A Cathar.

Either I had been showing very outstanding talent for exhibiting bilocation or something within my own mind was terribly amiss. And the odds were that the latter of the two was correct.

I did not benefit from denying it any further.

Bastila Shan had to stand at the root of it all.

* * *

><p>When finally entering the small, run-down apartment which our unintentionally formed little Republic task force used as the base of operations, the barrel of a rifle sighting towards my face was both a threatening and welcoming scene. Recognizing me, Carth Onasi lowered his rifle.<p>

"Are you okay?" the Commander asked immediately.

"A couple of bruises… Nothing to slow me down," I answered mildly, not carrying the intention of discussing the issue further. The goatee-bearded man gave me a short nod, understanding.

"The duel – it was well lost. You made it look like… completely unplanned," Onasi continued steadily, his dark eyes weighting me with a keen, steady gaze. The unasked question was hanging in the air.

"Did you get the credits?" I asked roughly, more interested in the essential than providing any further explanation or proof for the Commander.

I never planned to be hailed a hero. Nor did I intend to open up and cut to pieces a defeat worth of a thousand credits. Or to explain to Onasi that after following a few duels for a couple of nights… After reading the opponents, tracking their potential flaws and weaknesses… And carefully crafting personified strategies for each and every one of them inside my mind… I had carried a certain confidence in being able to gain control over the dueling ring.

And play my cards just as I liked.

"Everything went as we planned… An insane idea, Daraz, but you were correct about the odds. Before the last fight started you had the vast majority of the brokers taking your victory as a sheer certainty."

Somewhere around that point some serious money had started running. Always betting for the highest gain, Carth had placed everything we had gathered… on Marl.

In this sense, human minds are alike. New heroes are always loved. And the ones who are beaten… they will quickly vanish to the grey mass of anonymity.

"And the Jedi?" I asked whilst removing the straps keeping my armor intact.

I fought the urge to grit my teeth when the pain that had loomed quietly in the background exploded into sharp, stinging jolts of reality. Nevertheless I did not intend to complain. My ribs were still intact as far as I could tell. And the fresh, emerging bruises were nothing but nuisances. Pain was a known indicator - a factor I could define. Restrictions set by injuries could be taken into account even when planning next movements amidst the heat of a battle.

But it did not mean I did not share mutual feelings with a Kath Hound experiencing a face-to-face collision with a speeder.

"Already on her way to collect the ID's," Onasi replied.

I shrugged nonchalantly. It had been no surprise the Jedi had been against the plan. But for her to easily take a use of the money we had gathered by utilizing means she had called a fraud… Something she had very clearly _and loudly_ washed her hands of. Because it had not been the Jedi way. To me, it was…

_Bloody hypocrisy._

There was no point in denying the Jedi had been useful. After all, her knowledge over Taris had quickly led us to those shady corners of the Upper City where we had been able to locate an ID forger. And by using the Sith identification papers which I had… _acquired_ from Sarna as a baseline, gaining a couple of unofficial ranks in the Sith military hierarchy had only been a question of cash.

"Better if are not seen together in the Upper City unless absolutely necessary," I told Carth. "I have a feeling we start to face some extra scuffle if a certain Hutt gets the chance to link a couple of faces together."

"Couldn't agree more. We'll move to the Lower City as soon as Sandra returns."

But now. A shower. Perhaps I even had the opportunity of closing my eyelids for an hour or two - a tempting thought to take into consideration. After ridding myself of the armor and the weaponry strapped to my belt, I quickly found myself inside the refresher of the apartment. Running water was a rare luxury – especially inside a hole like this. Nevertheless, I was not going to complain.

Hell – it had been a couple of long days. In this case, the measurement of length had been subjective. The feeling of proceeding nowhere and the resulting frustration had caused me to fantasize about a one-man assault to the elevator and beyond more than once. But patience often pays more.

Another step closer to the Lower City. It meant another step closer to Bastila Shan.

The Sith woman, the Junior Officer called Sarna had been the means for gaining the first victory related to traversing between sub-cities of Taris. She had been an oasis shining in the middle of this dull planet. I could honestly say that I had genuinely enjoyed her company. The night we spent together, conversing about things beyond the war. Sharing a kiss or two. Blissfully forgetting for a short moment comprised of a few hours.

It was a pity I had to use her. It was a pity I had to go through her belongings while she soundly slept her alcohol-clouded dreams. And then to quietly exit the apartment and disappear. It was a pity that in the end she was just a mere tool helping me to gain a copy of Sith access papers for a forger.

The reality existed somewhere else than in a young woman's arms.

_The reality is much less rewarding,_ I grimaced mentally.

The shower had eased the ache within my bones. Deep in thought, I stepped out of the 'fresher using my shirt as a makeshift towel.

"I see you've gained your share of the war," Onasi stated.

It took me a second or two to put things together. After all, my body had contained the scars for a so long time that they had blended into what I defined as my physical essence. I rarely gave them the smallest thought. Although not exactly appealing to the eye, they did not slow me down and thus I was not interested. Simple as that.

Two were the deepest. One divided my left pectoral by the length of a half a hand. The other followed my left side; thicker, uglier, nastier. It crossed three ribs almost vertically. The rest - mere shades compared to these. All reminiscent of the fact that a kolto tank had not always been at hand.

And I understood. He demanded an explanation.

"I haven't had much of the pleasure," I replied, not hiding the sarcasm. "But I would prefer to say that battle is a more familiar environment to me than war. One does not need to dodge Sith blaster bolts poorly in order to gain a couple of bloody reminders to the flesh. I have always been open about my past. As you are aware, it has not been pretty."

It was not enough. The slight rise of an eyebrow followed by silence told me that the Commander needed more. Likely something with a substance. Onasi was still suspicious.

I shrugged. I had nothing to lose here.

"A trophy from Nar Shaddaa – some minor negotiations related to details regarding an ownership of a ship," I continued, patting the scar crossing my pectoral.

"Lost that argument," I clarified, letting a joyless grin spread to my lips.

"Sorry to hear," Carth responded mildly. Probably more due to a habit than actually having any meaning behind the words. He was slightly unconformable, I could see from his demeanor. I was starting to enjoy the situation.

"And this one…" I started, moving my hand to the scar on my left side. And bumped into a wall of emptiness when the memory I had sensed… just vanished from my grasp.

_Bloody Hell!_

The scar was so kriffin' long that gaining it must've hurt like Hell. So without a question the memory had to be in my mind. It just had to be there. I would not _allow _any other way. A wave of rage swept through my veins when I fiercely dug into my memories, and…

And.

There was something.

It was like the faintest shadow made out of glass. So fragile that even a breath would shatter it to a thousand pieces. And I reached towards this faint imprint of a memory ceased to exist.

…_Dxun…_

A clear recollection of a dark, nightly jungle opened before my eyes. Skyscraping trees. Hundreds of them. Stars barely visible in the holes left amidst treetops. And the scent of…

…

…_The scent of Death is thick in the air. Rotting vegetation and corpses drained from their lifeblood. An the smoke… The acrid stench blends to the moist, warm air. _

_An explosion. Nearby. The tail of the shockwave follows the deafening sound._

_And I sense my hunters. At least five… around me, hidden, invisible. I am surrounded. So I wait. Patiently. Let them close in…_

…_Tighten my grip on the hilt of my blade..._

"_Bring it on." No sound made – I only shape the words with my mouth. I grit my teeth together, mentally readying myself for the upcoming._

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

_One of them is behind me. A snap-hiss and a flash of bright blue. He falls silently to the ground, his corpse yet again visible and neatly slit by my weapon._

_Friggin devils._

_And they storm the ground around me. Stealth fields give in to the movement and fade away – computer-enhanced visual is clear, but they burn even brighter within my senses. I dance, let my blade follow the unleashed series of wild blows and parries. One falls, wheezing out a gurgle. Then another one… _

_There are five… Six. No - a wave. A sea. _

_This… not… enough._

_I will. Not. _

_Submit._

_Something bites my side. Adrenaline is flooding my system – the pain is only a red spike somewhere deep within my consciousness. But I stagger; the sheer force of the blow destroys my balance._

_The night sky, lit by a barrage of explosions somewhere miles away. It is the final sight before the darkness…_

…

Shocked to the bones, I blinked and the image was gone as quickly as it had manifested itself. But the short glimpse to another world and another war had left me both speechless and turned my mind to a playground of wildly galloping thoughts.

_What the Hell?_

_I have never stepped on Dxun, let alone fought there. Never. _

_And in my hands… In my hands was a lightsaber. Blue. A Jedi weapon. A kriffin' Jedi weapon. _

But it did make sense, in a twisted way. Somehow. I did recall the lightsaber I had briefly lifted aboard _the Spire_. I did remember the strange feeling of familiarity while letting my fingers sweep the metallic surface of the cylinder.

_What in the bloody Hell the Jedi have done to me?_

And when I had handled the Dark Jedi's weapon, the look on Sandra's face had been close to venomous.

_Did… Does Sandra have a part in this? _

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt when I noted the darkened look on Onasi's face. For a moment I had trailed off, totally forgotten what I had been doing in the first place. And now… I did not carry a slightest urge to take the discussion any further.

"…It is not significant," I muttered and pulled the shirt to cover my upper body. My mood had just dropped to a subzero temperature. The deeper I dug into this mess, the uglier its intestines were.

However, Onasi did not plan to drop the subject.

"Daraz… Listen to me. This is an order," he stated.

"Of course I have read your file. I am bloody aware what they say about you and your skills. They are very clear about that. I was supposed to get a scout. That's why something does not add up here, soldier."

The Commander rose up to his full height, although yet standing slightly shorter than I. He shook his head.

"You are a friggin one man army. I saw the way you handled things aboard _the Spire. _Not to mention that little game you played at the cantina. And as far as your so called file is concerned, you don't have the skills."

I wanted to laugh bitterly. _Kriffin' file. _

"Maybe I should take a look it at some point, Commander," I answered coldly, not wanting to try to explain something I could not explain even to myself in the first place. "It seems to raise a Hell of a lot questions."

"I do not know what to think of you, Daraz," he muttered, eyes sharp.

"Then don't," I stated, fighting to keep my voice steady and not to give in to the impulsion of stepping outside of the boundaries of my now faltering self-control.

The air had condensed into almost tangible tenseness; a spring willing to unleash imbedded forces.

But the sharpest edge of the situation was lost when I felt a part of my consciousness slipping to a new direction. My eyes drifted towards the door when the sensation fully realized itself into my mind.

_Sandra, _I thought. _She is coming._

The incipient feeling evolved into full-fledged reality when a series of knocks were heard at the door of the apartment. The signal we had previously agreed upon. The Commander did not hesitate and directed his rifle towards the doorway. A necessary precaution put in place.

It was she.

The red-haired Jedi stepped inside the apartment with soft, silent steps. Seemingly nonchalant about the threatening welcome committee, Sandra did not share a glance towards Onasi's rifle. Instead she directed her steps towards the lone table located at the opposite side of the apartment and placed apparent ID cards on the table.

"It's done," she said. "We have the documents."

"Carth, I want you to sell the weapons Daraz managed to _acquire_," she continued. "We need to pay good Zelka for his efforts."

I shook my head, silently disagreeing. Zelka had been a valuable ally, had to agree on that. But to waste precious resources at this point of the effort… Kriffin' did not make much sense.

"Fine," Onasi replied. The older soldier gathered the weapons to a bag, shouldered his rifle and stepped quickly into the darkening night of Taris.

Maybe now. A moment of rest, I thought longingly, but soon noted the wish to be in vain.

Green eyes were directed straight towards me and I understood the Jedi's train of thought. I cursed mentally.

"Daraz, I need to discuss with you," she said. No place for arguments here.

_Alright, Jedi. Let us play._

* * *

><p>Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena watched the tall man standing in front of her, waiting for his reaction. Wearing only black, a tall and muscular frame shouting of both strength and agility – yes, Ensign Eldran Daraz could be a threatening sight. If he wanted to. Sandra was also aware that the man had talent for being extremely charming. He had a sarcastic sense of humor and had the confidence for being overtly flirtatious. And over the course of past months, the figure of this man and the complexity of his personality had become all too familiar for Sandra.<p>

Two minutes back she had voiced out her proposal and was yet expecting an answer from the man.

"No. Absolutely not," he finally stated. The expression on his face was blank, not giving out any emotions. But if he had tried to hide the freezing ice behind his tone, he did not do very well.

The reaction was not a surprise for Sandra. After all, she was well aware that the man had the tendency of being stubborn as a Rookag. A pack of Rookags.

"You must understand, Daraz. There is no other option," she tried again, keeping her voice firm.

"You are sensitive to the Force – I am certain of it! On Dantooine we can guide you, teach you how to control it. So that you are not a danger to yourself or everything around you."

The man's posture was tense. It reminded Sandra of a threatened, caged beast willing to strike immediately when tempted. And she could easily sense the boiling rage building within him, but did not fully understand why he had reacted so harshly.

"Thank you very much, but I have already received my share of your _hospitality_," he said, sarcasm thickening the air.

"Anger leads to the Dark Side," Sandra warned.

"If I have survived with perfectly normal human emotions till now, I think I will do well enough in the future," Daraz hit back, not yielding the slightest.

"Not now when your potential has awakened," the Jedi explained. "The Dark Side of the Force has been able to lure strong men. Intelligent men. Courageous men. Men whose level of control over the Force has been a result of practice which has lasted their entire lifetimes."

"It is my choice, Jedi," his voice slashed like a whip.

"The Force is not a choice, Daraz."

"Whether I submit to your teachings or not most certainly is," he argued, anger flaring behind his eyes. "If you are concerned of danger… I can assure you that I've been able to exhibit a little bit of danger even before allegedly being tied to this Force of yours."

Sandra shrugged the grim implication off, determined not to let the soldier's poor attitude impact her mental state.

"I want to stress out the importance of this, Daraz. Do not let your stubbornness be the end of you. Please, come to Dantooine with me."

"Aren't you going ahead? First we need to get off this kriffin' piece of rock," Daraz remarked dryly.

"So… You will consider?" she asked hopefully.

The dark-haired man turned around, shaking his head from side to side, openly frustrated.

"This is a waste of my time. I have already stated my point. I do not intend to repeat it."

He proceeded away from her, clearly signaling that the discussion was over.

And Sandra knew that she had lost this round. Maybe not the entire battle, but at least for now the man seemed to be out of her reach. Stubborn and ignorant. Would not listen even to the tiniest bit of advice.

Unless… A thought formed inside her mind.

"Tell me about your nightmares, Daraz," Sandra said calmly, directing her words to the black-clad soldier's back.

The man came to a sudden halt and he turned around so quickly that Sandra instinctively almost took a step back. So there it was. A crack eating the walls the man was so determined to keep up.

"You have nightmares, don't you?" Sandra continued. "Inexplicable dreams. You do not know where they originate or why you are seeing them. Every time you close your eyes. You scream emotions to the Force: rage, pain, sorrow, bitterness."

_You bombard me with them, soldier._

"How… What do you know about my dreams?" Daraz asked, voice cracking, almost whispering. It was easy to sense the shroud of venomous suspicion and utter disgust surrounding the man. And she did not need to have Jedi skills in order to take notice of the sheer confusion dominating on the man's even features.

Sandra had to remind herself that although intelligent, Daraz did not have the knowledge of a Jedi over the multitude of ways the Force worked.

_He thinks I am the enemy. That I have forcefully dug into something that belongs only to him. That I have spied on him. _

"I sense them, Daraz. Without trying. Every night aboard the _Endar Spire_. Even here - even when my thoughts were clouded by anesthetics. The Force is speaking to you, trying to tell you something."

"And the message may be?" he asked, still not fully convinced. But the flames of rage, which had previously engulfed the man's aura, were diminishing.

"I do not know. Tell me what you see," she calmly encouraged him.

His eyes were two piercing, black stones. But he decided to answer.

"I see a woman," the soldier said.

"Do you know who she is?" she asked.

For a short while he stood silent.

"I do not know her," he finally stated.

Roughly, the man was telling the truth. But there was also a lie hidden somewhere deep within this truth – she was certain of it. Sandra decided not to push any further. Likely it was not worth it. At least not for now. She had to be careful not to lose the progress she was making – she was already walking a tightrope here.

"Let me help you," she pleaded.

The man's eyes had narrowed.

"The Dark Jedi… Can they sense... it? Are they aware of our presence?" he asked, giving out an impression of genuine concern.

"I am not entirely sure… although it is not likely. We have been spending a lot of time together. It is not totally unheard of two Force-sensitive people becoming increasingly responsive to each other's auras in a situation like this," she explained, hoping that the answer would ease the man's mind.

And Daraz did not have the skills for shielding his emotions with the Force. For an untrained individual, he usually was surprisingly hard to read. But when emanating all these spikes of extreme emotions, he was nothing less than an open book for Sandra to read.

Daraz shrugged, appearing to be indifferent of hearing more.

"Alright, Jedi. I hope you are right. I intend to rest now. Probably you should do the same."

And then he was gone, making his way towards the bed located to the other side of the apartment. The Jedi wanted to heave out a long breath of frustration. It seemed that she was facing a mountain of obstacles to conquer.

But the Council had been very clear and very strict when issuing her those orders two weeks back. And over the course of last couple of days she had started to fully understand why.

Daraz would return. Whether he decided to or not.

**A/N2: **What did you think of it? Please review!


	8. Consequences

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**A/N: **Thank you for your feedback. It is very much appreciated. Hugely, to be honest.

I am happy to get this chapter out, finally. Hopefully you enjoy!

Again, I should give a warning about darker themes in this chapter. I still think that this falls in the 'T' category, but if someone disagrees, please let me know.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Consequences<strong>

The air was thicker and damper.

_Rotten place, _I thought when eyeing the Lower City of Taris for the first time. Possibly.

_A kriffin' bomb to explode…_

To me, the Upper and Middle cities of Taris had always seemed to serve the purpose of a planet-wide carpet - under which all the trash could effortlessly be hidden. That left the Lower City and Undercity as those figurative piles of scrap and rubbish… Which in this case was a rather representative mental image.

Because no adjective synonym to the word 'beautiful' nor any of its close or even distant relatives could be linked to these darkish, poorly lit hallways; majority still bearing the scars of Mandalorian Wars on their unwashed surfaces. Or the heavy concrete and durasteel structures, which carried the weight of city plates above our heads that efficiently cut a majority of the daylight out. And characteristic stenches of acid speeder exhaust fumes and smoke, the latter resultant to wide numbers of blaster bolts exchanged between trigger-happy gun handlers.

It was a bomb and in no terms because of the amount of explosives present, but rather due to the disorder and internal struggles going on virtually unseen from the nonchalant eyes watching from the upper city layers. Eventually Taris would collapse, I mused, and it would be because of the rot building within it and inevitably eating its way outwards.

But, looking from the positive side: the word on the streets was that, with the exception of lone groups of guards at elevator entrances or sparse patrols, the presence of Sith was less oppressive on these levels below the Upper City. Golden armored troopers were focused on securing known means of transportation between city layers and blocking all movement off the planet. Very likely the number of troops accompanying Darth Malak had not been enough for a full planet-wide coverage. They had to point their efforts in order to optimize efficiency.

Which meant they had blind spots in their vision.

The present positioning of troops left large portions of the two lower cities an environment of Sith-free air. Nice to breathe that for a change. Other than that the lack of Sith was not an actual improvement compared to the previous situation. Likely it made it worse.

Sandra had believed that the fierce gang war once waging inside the concrete and steel-made internals of Taris had quieted down. Diminished due to the presence of conquerors.

And she had been so very wrong.

It was worse than ever.

_A kriffin' bomb to explode_, I had thought and I had meant it.

"Better watch out," Carth noted quietly. The bearded Commander was lowering his rifle to the ready.

We had spotted the same event unfolding before our eyes. Its exact location was no further than the first intersection after the elevator shaft. Its timing was only approximately two minutes since elevator doors had slid closed behind our backs. And I needed no Jedi senses to mentally stamp the word 'volatile' with thick, red letters everywhere. A somewhat functional common sense was well enough.

With no possibility to back away and retrace our steps, we were forced to stand as witnesses to a collision of two separate groups. Both of which consisted of a selection of humanoids of different races: humans, Twi'lek and even reptilian-like Niktos. And all of them were equally tense, filled with rage easily noticeable from their exaggerated and ferocious gestures, and sending insults of hate back and forth.

"_Beks are nothing but bantha fodder. The Vulkars are strongest!" _a Nikto male clad in black and red shouted in its native language.

And the smaller group was apparently planning to end up dead, I thought dryly.

After all, the numbers were five to three and most obviously not to their advantage. I calmly watched the tension to explode into a battle; swords were being drawn out and blasters raised.

_Bloody idiotic._

Idiotic actions usually yield idiotic results. No reason to expect more. If the group of three Beks had been nominated to contest for a diploma in foolhardiness, they likely would have won it. But in the end, this did not carry any weight. The Vulkars took them down one by one. Not fighting with grace and skill but by blunt force and unsuppressed vile aggression. It was enough in this case. The end result was three fresh Bek corpses grimly decorating the hallway.

The Vulkars were not trained soldiers, not by any means. The way they handled their blades was a roughly drafted disgrace of any known form, I had analyzed. As elegant, like a group of Rancors attempting to dance the Alderaanian waltz.

It did not mean they were to be taken lightly. Instinctively, my hand had dropped to the blaster pistol hanging on my belt. My fingers had bent around the familiarly textured grip.

_Damn. _

The intuition of incipient danger had hit me half a second before it evolved into reality. Sandra's hands were carefully looking for a place on the hilt of the vibroblade she was carrying, I observed automatically, the peak of my concentration directed towards the Vulkars.

"_More Beks!" _a green-skinned Twi'lek shouted.

I did not need to think twice to understand whom he had meant. None of us did.

And suddenly the direction of the battle had shifted. Changed. All five of them attacked.

…We did not hesitate.

The first one of them, the Nikto, was felled by an accurate series of bolts spat by Carth's rifle. The second collapsed in the middle of his charge due to two rapid shots to the chest and one to the head I had fired. Sandra had already moved swiftly and was facing the remainder of the group in hand-to-hand combat. The Jedi was springing her vibrosword into action, commanding the golden-shaded blade to dance in her hands with complex Jedi-like moves.

I did not have time. Otherwise I would have grimaced in agony. I made a quick mental note of discussing some of the basic differences between a metal blade and a blade crafted from pure energy with her when an opportunity showed up, and jumped into the battle.

Deciding that the Jedi needed support and not wanting to risk accidentally hitting her with a blaster bolt, I holstered my pistol in favor of the vibroblade. Quickly jumping over the dead Vulkar on the way, I closed the remaining distance… Dodged an attacking Nikto's blade and swung mine towards the empty space left amidst his defense. The blade penetrated his armor neatly in his abdomen and he bent over, grunting in pain. A lone shot rang in the hallway when Carth ended his agony.

My focus was already at the two Vulkars left, yet battling the Jedi with their vibroswords. But noting all of their companions fall within seconds, sheer desperation was creeping into their movements. Fear. Panic. The other one of them, the Twi'lek, decided to break the faltering formation and run.

…_Pathetic…_

I did not pursue him.

Instead I lifted the blaster pistol yet again and aimed calmly. Let patiently the sights line up with the target. And steadily pulled the trigger.

…The pistol spat once...

The Twi'lek fell down with a loud wail when the bolt penetrated his knee and destroyed his kneecap. On my right side, Sandra's blade was a fierce golden flash, slicing the last remaining Vulkar shorter by a head.

We were done.

Almost.

I strode to the grunting Twi'lek, who was now lying on the hallway floor. The Vulkar was desperately reaching for a blaster lying mere a meter away. The weapon had slipped from his grip during his unintended fall. I decided to make things easier for him and kicked the weapon far out of his reach…right before pushing him to his back and burying the barrel of mine to his left temple.

Slightly rash and unplanned, yes. A split second decision made in the middle of pulling the trigger. But we needed the information. And I preferred the straightforward way.

"Keep your hands at sight," I ordered him. Sharply. "Obey and this will be over quickly."

I could see his face twisting in pain, hatred and fury, green head-tails twitching as a reflection to these emotions. The words he half spoke half spat out did not hide the disgust.

"_Brejik will skin you, Bek scum!"_

I pushed the barrel deeper into his skin to make my point.

"The name of your leader does not carry any weight, Vulkar. Do not waste my time. Information, on the other hand, _may _help you," I stated steadily, not carrying the interest or the time for lengthy persuasion.

"I recommend listening to him… He's the one carrying the gun, not you," Carth encouraged in a calmer manner. The older soldier had walked to my left side. The red-haired Jedi was at my right, remaining silent and yet holding her sword at the ready with two hands. Likely utilizing her Jedi senses to grab a warning in advance if a group of Vulkars were about to step around the corner.

"We are in search of a human, a young woman…" I managed to start.

"_Nothing for you, Bek!" _the Vulkar snapped in Twi'lek, cutting my speech.

_Damn._

I could have given him credit for having the balls to resist while my gun was at point blank range from his head. But it was a friggin wrong answer. And I had to get this over with before we lost the rare luxury of privacy and the hallway was filled with a ton of Vulkars and other Lower City scum.

Deep down the man was a coward – I had seen that before. Most of all he wanted to survive. I intended to dig those instincts out from him and put them to use.

…It was a quick motion of my wrist when I redirected the pistol's barrel and unhesitatingly pulled the trigger. A portion of the concrete floor size of a fist exploded right next to the Twi'lek's head – sending dust and small pieces of stone everywhere, mostly on the side of his face. Unintentional or not, the man screamed.

"Fool!" I growled and buried the barrel of the gun to his cheek. "We have no part in this bloody war of yours! And you are friggin starting to run out of time…"

That finally swung him over the edge. The change in his overall demeanor was almost tangible. The thin shell of courage he had used to cover the fear pulsating all over his internals was falling apart.

…I could almost feel it.

"_Please, sir," _he pleaded voice breaking. _"D-don't…"_

"Answer or die," I stated not letting the steel of no nonsense slip from my voice. "We are in search of a Republic officer called Bastila Shan. I want to hear everything you know of her whereabouts. Everything."

Sandra heaved in a short, heavy breath. I wanted to toss her a furious glance to tell her to keep her mouth shut by the Force's sake, but was too occupied with the Vulkar. Luckily she seemed to figure that out by herself. The Jedi remained silent.

"Now," I commanded.

The man's eyes were bulging out from his head. His mouth was opening and closing in turns and I could not avoid an image of a fish picturing itself into my mind. A kriffin' fish tossed on dry land and desperately trying to catch a breath. Not a flattering sight by any means. But the strands of information bouncing inside his head were forming into understanding, I could see. Into answers.

"_The Republic… I heard_ _Brejik's got a new catch," _the Twi'lek uttered hastily. _"A human woman. A Republic officer, just like you say…"_

"Bull's eye," Carth muttered quietly.

"And where she is?" I pressed. Half commanding, half growling.

This was it, now. We were getting closer. I was getting closer.

"_I do not know," _he exclaimed fear spreading into his eyes. _"I swear by the Force that I don't know. Brejik keeps moving her… Does not want her to be spoilt." _

_Spoilt? _I contemplated. And then it hit me. There were few things, which disgusted me to the core, but this definitely was one of them. I pictured Bastila Shan surrounded by a dozen of Vulkars and wanted to put a blaster bolt through this one's brain.

But what to expect? The Jedi clearly was incapacitated one way or another – or otherwise she would have walked free. Likely not even a base full of Vulkars and two dozen durasteel doors could hold her in unless she wished so or was unable to act. There were a multitude of ways pieces of _shab _like the Vulkars could find a Jedi valuable.

"Why is Brejik so damn interested in her wellbeing?" I snapped. Sour disgust had crept into my voice and the man noticed it. He was pulling short, desperate breaths and seemed to be motivated enough to be… chatty.

"_She is worth a lot of credits. A Republic officer and a J-Jedi, so they say. Brejik intends to put her up as a prize for the swoop race," _he blabbered.

"Where and when?" I asked.

And he explained. Blurted it all out with hasty, unplanned words. Clearly enough for me to understand that this was all we were about to get from him. That I was done.

"I sense that there are no lies behind his words," Sandra whispered. "The gangs do contend with swoop bikes. It carries great weight. Whoever controls the racetrack basically also controls the Lower City. And… knowing everything Bastila represents… She is an outstanding prize. For these gangs, presenting something of her stature as a prize is a true proof of power."

Good enough. We had a target, a location and a deadline to reach. Two days of time to investigate, plan and execute. Likely there was a Hell of a lot to do, but Bastila Shan was closer than ever. It was all that mattered – I could feel the anxiety building up within my bones. And for now there was only one thing left.

…I adjusted the line of the dark metal barrel to rid this waste of life of his pathetic existence.

…And felt a slender hand on the wrist of my right hand. The hand holding the weapon. It was a gentle, but very demanding grip.

The Jedi had silently knelt beside me.

"Don't," Sandra told me quietly. "We got everything we wanted. Just let him go."

I knew this tone all too well. No objections. The Jedi would stop me if she had to.

So I shrugged nonchalantly and stood up. Holstered the pistol. Turned around and took the direction towards the hallway we had originally planned, way before the mess, the smoke and the blood. Walked on to hear my companions follow with quiet steps. Almost sensed waves of relief pulsating from the Twi'lek.

Feeling like an idiot.

"Bloody efficient, I have to give you cre-" Carth acknowledged with a hint of smile lighting his tone –

- The last word being half swallowed by the lone screak and flash of light spat out by my blaster.

I had jolted around in a sudden fierce spin and let my pistol speak one final word.

…Because there was no way I'd let this pass by.

The Twi'lek's fall to the pavement was a lone thump.

"What the Hell, Daraz?"

The shock and rage were evident spikes in the Commander's voice. He had quickly noticed what had happened. Face darkened and eyes flaring with anger, Onasi lowered his rifle from the instinctively adapted battle stance while shaking his head.

Although somewhat tensed by the recent twist of events, both of my companions seemed to silently agree that this was not the time or location for a conversation. Not exactly unexpected, a few poorly lit blocks of hallways away the Jedi Knight's fingers suddenly tightened around my wrist and the subsequent pull brought my steps to a halt.

I obliged, in order to get the thing over with.

"That was totally unnecessary." Sandra's voice was like a chilly breeze.

Green eyes glared at me, demanding an explanation. The Jedi's mouth was a thin line.

"Unnecessary?" I scoffed. "Woman – that man was dead the exact same second he became aware of our mission. I do not share information lightly and not at all when it endangers the task. It's called friggin' common sense we don't let the Vulkars expect us coming."

"You have to get a grip on yourself, soldier," Carth ordered harshly, annoyed. "We've already left too many corpses in our wake."

"One more certainly does not impact anything considering the circumstances," I pointed out dryly, disinterested to continue.

"Just… Just don't surprise me like that in the future," the Commander spat. The older soldier was clearly slightly put off by my actions. Possibly also the lack of respect had bit him.

But this discussion was a waste of my time. It indeed also was a waste of the Jedi and the Commander's time. They just had not recognized it yet.

"We do not kill unarmed opponents. I do not accept the ways you act, Daraz," the Jedi told me. "The actions you perform. Neither should you."

The tone of the last sentence was softer.

I knew what she was ultimately referring to. Silently behind the words.

…_The Force. _

The thought sent a disgusted shiver along my spine.

"We are running out of time. You know this as well as I do. You heard what the man said – the Vulkars have her," I reminded her sharply.

The feeling was the same as days before, aboard _the Spire, _when she asked for two minutes whilst the ship was blowing apart around us. Like teaching a blind to see.

So I pushed forward.

"I have no intention of contemplating on softer methods of getting to the point _while_ our target is risking of getting her purity _spoilt, _to put it another way. If we don't make it in time… After the swoop race she will be gone. Game over. Efficiency is the bloody _key word_ here."

My voice was slightly tighter than I had intended. More demanding.

"Efficiency," Sandra said, tasting the word. Her eyes were sweeping the distance. The Jedi clearly had noted the bite my tone had held.

"Do not let your drive for efficiency consume you, Daraz," she stated. Her eyes found mine, once again. "Be careful."

I did observe a hint of …something behind the green eyes.

…Concern?

"Let's move on before someone thinks we're interesting," Onasi suggested. He was willing to drop the subject. To let this one pass, for now. It was a sensible proposal and we moved on.

But I had no idea what the Commander was planning for me after this ordeal - if we were to make it out of this planet. It was likely that eventually I was going to face some sort of disciplinary actions. Possibly even court-marshal. Every officer who was even remotely good at his occupation would do so. And from what I had heard, Onasi was an excellent officer.

In the hierarchy of the Republic Navy both Onasi and the red haired Jedi were my superiors. Way above me. They were supposed to order and I was supposed to oblige. It was starting to become very apparent that I was failing my basic duty somewhat miserably.

And I was willing to do so. Eager even, if I calculated those actions resulting as raising the odds towards getting things done.

_Efficiency is the bloody key word here... _

The way I saw it the end result mattered, not the means or the cost. Essentially only two things were of interest, could be considered as weighty objectives. And neither of them was related to my theoretical future career amongst the ranks of the Republic Navy.

The first of them was Bastila Shan.

I felt determined to get to her – there was no way denying the urge and the single-mindedness circulating the thought. To see the real life counterpart of the tired, dust and sweat stained but delicate face, which kept haunting my dreams. Her all too familiar steel-grey eyes – those eyes, which had solemnly explored my features whilst I had drifted between the faintly wavering reality and the darkest abyss.

The padawan was the only person who could offer me a lead…

She was the only one who could tell…

I just had to come up with a solution on how to ask the exactly correct questions without raising suspicions. If there was something light repelling stitched tightly to occurrences circulating my past as I was starting to strongly suspect, carefully planned maneuvers were needed in place when digging through the shroud of deception towards the resolution.

Standing face to face with my past was approximately two days away. I was so damn close to claiming my answers.

…There was no way I'd let this opportunity slip past my fingers.

The second objective was related to means of escaping this Sith-infested planet or moreover the apparent lack of them. Likely my companions were not even going to consider the alternatives that were quite high on my list of options – an assumption I could certainly live with. As far as I was concerned, the ride I was looking for was not going to carry anything with the flavor of Republic inside its gut.

Yes – desertion was not a plan sanctified by nobility. Quite the opposite in fact. But what I had to lose? The eternal gratitude of the Jedi council?

The choice had been an obvious one. I had no place in this war. Due to what I had been able uncover so far, I was not going to stand obediently as a friggin pawn in this absurd game of chess I seemed to be part of.

I had easily pieced together that there was one repeating common factor in all the unsolved equations related to my past. Bastila Shan was a Jedi. Going through what I had been able to identify from the faint bits and pieces of alien memories manifesting into my head, I had a connection to the Jedi. In the past.

Although it disgusted me to the core, the fact that Sandra was so certain about my Force Sensitiveness had made this link a crystal clear one. She believed I instinctively used the Force. Let it fuel my actions. And yes – there was something, yet I could not pinpoint its essence. The feeling itself was not out of place. Rather it was characterized by moments of utmost clarity. Such as how the adrenaline-fuelled intensity of a battle further evolved into the pure target and trajectories formed by nearing dangers…

And there was more…

_The kriffin' lightsaber. _The weapon had felt like a natural extension to my hands. In the short glimpse I had recovered, the lethal beam of energy had danced under my command with grace. It had followed my instincts without resistance. I knew how to use one – the discernment was embedded so deep in my muscles that it made the trusty vibroblade hanging on my belt seem like a clumsily constructed makeshift.

_A lightsaber is no ordinary soldier's weapon,_ she had said. And it was not. It was a Jedi weapon. Or…

Or.

…Or in my case the link could be related to their darker equivalents. I could not fully rule it out. Honestly, I did not exactly radiate the peace, serenity and the internal harmony the Jedi were always preaching about. As a matter of fact I felt that there was equally as much Jedi in me as a Krayt Dragon could be described a friggin children's pet. But looking from all other directions than that, this hypothesis made no sense at all. Not the slightest.

The fact that I was still living and breathing worked more or less as excellent contrary evidence.

The Jedi would not let a Sith walk amidst their ranks.

_Bloody Hell. _

And although I had been able to formulate a few theories and play around with those, the 'what' and most importantly the 'why' were still very much out of my reach. Bastila Shan potentially was a being with an access to both of them.

First Bastila. Then, off planet. In this order.

* * *

><p>A first location of actual interest in the Lower City was a dingy looking cantina.<p>

We had entered a livelier part of the city layer - apparent due to the slightly thicker, traversing crowd and the sound of idle, cautious chatter here and there. The small group of ours was left alone, aside from a few curious glances. Openly armed and armored, likely we were giving out an aura of mercenaries or bounty hunters. Both of those were a typical occupation to be seen around locations like this and both were identically unapproachable for anyone with a functional instinct of self-preservation. That suited us well.

"Let's stop here," I proposed, watching the Rodian bouncer lead in a pair of Twi'leks.

"This is as good location for information digging as any."

"Javyar's Cantina," Sandra said, reading the sign, which at some point had been brightly lit with multiple bright colors. Now a third of letters had dimmed and the sign was barely readable, representing the declined state of the Lower City.

"I am still unconvinced of this so-called strategy, but I am willing to see where it takes."

Feeling amused, I smiled.

"It is a bloody war, Sandra. Either pick a side or be prepared to be ran over by it," I told her.

"Daraz is right. We need to get _inside_, somehow," Onasi admitted quietly. "But be discreet."

The final line was a direct command for me, I assumed. To keep blaster bolts inside my pistol and my pistol in its holster. I watched him in silence and decided to nod.

We had agreed on actions during the past dozen or so minutes, after digesting the intel provided by the now deceased Vulkar.

"_The Beks have no love for conquerors – they showed it during the Mandalorian Wars. If they've had no change in leadership, they are loyal to the Republic." _

That's what I had told them during our walk. Without having the faintest idea where I'd gathered this information or why I had it in the first place. I was already becoming quite an expert in shrugging off the feeling of being disturbed by the motley crew of inexplicable details present inside my head.

I had little choice. Either I could let it impact my emotional side and cloud my thoughts. Or I could aim to utilize it as much as possible. Plain and simple.

We walked past the doorman and the half a dozen of manned pazaak tables located close to the entrance. Despite the early hours and poor internal lighting, the cantina was almost full. It was crowded with numerous different species, less than a half of its visitors human. A curious blend of stenches and languages; smoke and spirits, Twi'lek, Huttese, galactic basic. Thoughts dulled by alcohol. It was an excellent location.

And not far in the cantina I spotted something interesting. _Someone _interesting.

My attention was fixed to three Rodians and one, small human male. The aliens were undoubtedly Vulkars, gang colors clearly and proudly in sight. They were feeling brave, shouting insults and raising fists. I decided to let the events unfold the way they liked and seized my steps in order to observe.

"Two," the human counted.

_Calo Nord. _My brains linked a name to the short but sturdy frame and the face half covered by a pair of goggles and an odd white turban.

"Three," the man stated.

And his pistols coughed out a few rapid flashes of red light. Two shots fired with a skill honed to near perfection. One by one the Vulkars fell to the floor only fractions of a second apart with not much of a chance of raising their weapons. Momentarily everything in the cantina seemed to come to a two-second long, horrified halt. And each and every single being sensibly forced themselves to continue their actions normally after they had realized what had just happened. Or _who._

_Pathetic, _I thought while eyeing the corpses of the Vulkars on the floor, wanting to shake my head_. Friggin stupid. _A part of me despised pointless deaths.

"I have no doubt over your skills… But don't intervene. That's Calo Nord," I heard Onasi whisper to the Jedi.

I glanced towards one of the galaxy's most notorious bounty hunters.

Seemingly unmoved, Nord turned to leave the cantina. And I watched. In silence. Let my gaze follow his steps momentarily while wondering what was on his agenda…which sorry being was his target.

The diminutive man, standing two heads shorter than I, walked past of our group, not giving us even a sidelong glance. Although he had the information I needed, I was not imprudent enough of trying to discuss with this particular bounty hunter.

I tend to categorize people into two groups. The ones I can see myself working with. And the rest. Without any doubt Nord belonged to the latter one.

But he was a hint pointing towards the correct direction.

Nord was in for credits. Nothing else. Big money. Thus he reeked of _the Exchange. _

On the way to the bar I had to step over the one remaining dead Vulkar. Two other corpses had already been dragged away by cantina staff, swiftly and silently. Seemed to be typical day-to-day business in this cantina.

_Bloody efficient. _

"Poor bastards," I said to the bartender whilst making myself space by the bar desk. She was a dark skinned woman with a hint of frustration in her brown eyes.

"What was the fuss about?" I enquired casually whilst placing a credit chip on the desk and gestured towards the ale tap.

"Don't know," she said while pouring the ale, disinterested. "And don't want to know… Something about unpaid debts I suppose. Would be good enough for me if the Vulkars and Kang's blood hounds stayed away from this hole."

There was the local businessman's name again. I did not need more proof.

_Interesting. _

Too bad I could not ask many questions, not like this. Not much more than a couple of carefully disguised enquiries amidst small talk. My face was an unfamiliar one around here. It would raise suspicions all too quickly.

The full pint of foam headed light brown Tarisian ale was placed in front of me and the credit chip disappeared into her hand. Seeing the judging look on Onasi's face, I doubled the order.

"And three 'Today's specials'," I added - with the dull feeling that the day was going to get increasingly adventurous.

_Whatever that is. Rather 'Today's gamble'. _

"I must point out that technically we are working," the Commander said when the two of us sat down around a chosen table at the further side of the room.

"Be discreet, you said," I reminded him calmly and took a sip of the bitter ale. "…Just trying to blend into the crowd."

Onasi snorted a short, muffled laughter. The reaction seemed to be genuine. Disapproving or not, he did take the ale almost gladly.

"So, what's the next step?" the older soldier asked with a curious spark in his eyes.

It was easy to see the absurdness of the question. How out of place it was. Somewhere behind simple words it was all about me crossing boundaries I was not supposed to.

"Eating," I responded dryly. "Assuming we eventually get the food."

"A grand plan." Onasi nodded in faked approval.

"She's already at it. I saw her discussing with some Twi'lek girl and a Wookiee. An intriguing pair, likely harmless. I don't see a reason of exposing myself since she will be able to get what we need. Discreetly."

I stressed the last word.

Insubordination was biting me back in the form of distrust and I could accept it. It was no coincidence that the Commander was sitting next to me right now. He wanted to see what I was up to. Whether or not I was planning to go overly quick and dirty, I suspected.

"Listen," he said, leaning towards me and lowering his voice. "Don't take it wrong. All the questions I've asked… You get things done. You seem to be bloody serious about our task and I appreciate it. Some things do not add up, but the reason _they_ brought you in was probably well grounded…"

The ale in my mouth suddenly tasted like acid and I had to fight the urge of spitting it all out all over the table.

Onasi paused, noticing the look on my face.

"You did not know?" he more stated to himself than asked, evidently surprised at my reaction. "Hell – it is no war secret that the request to your transfer came from their party. From our missing friend, to be precise."

_Bloody Hell. _

_Bloody, fiery, kriffin' Hell._

My internals had just been dipped to lava and then tossed right back in.

It had slithered like a snake – an innocent looking but extremely poisonous snake – amidst general discussion. Just like that. No carefully pointed conversational strategies or caution required.

Everything kept coming back to Bastila Shan.

Bastila Shan was the key. The trailing recollection of the dream… The image I had seen. It had been reality. Not something delusional my tired mind had made up.

Bastila Shan… She was the key. And the game…

The game was still on. It was not a game related to my past, to my lost and gradually, piece-by-piece surfacing glimpses of memories. No. Hell - no. It was active now. And I yet was a part of it.

_And the reason they brought you in was probably well grounded. _Shit.

They expected something of me. There was a role I was supposed to play…

"You okay?" the Commander asked and made me realize I'd let more seep through than what I should have.

I cursed at myself for allowing my thoughts to wander in such an uncontrolled manner. For letting emotions take the lead for a short moment.

"Just surprised. I didn't know I was associated with them. I guess they don't think a common grunt like me needs to know all the details," I replied, letting out a faked, tight laugh while hoping that the answer would satiate Onasi's need for one.

"They do have the tendency of not revealing much," the older soldier agreed. He sounded like he had a lot more to say about the subject, but was forced to keep quiet due to the unsuitable environment.

However, there was a hint of silent agreement hanging in the air.

"There were quite a few of them aboard," I experimented.

Onasi chuckled wryly.

"No kidding… They more or less took over…"

The Commander leaned back in his chair when a tired eyed waitress placed three portions of nondescript looking greyish stew on the table. Feeling the tingle of hunger inside my gut, I went for the food. Onasi eyed it, frowning suspiciously.

"What seems to be common for all cantinas like this is the food. You never know what meat you get… Usually even after tasting."

I grinned at the joke and fought the first mouthful of the stew resembling substance down.

"Perhaps nerf. Perhaps the chef's former neighbor," I admitted. The food was so bland and insipid that it was almost an achievement.

Onasi barked a short laugh, but a serious look took place on his face very quickly.

"What I was about to say… I don't believe in coincidences. Not when _they_ are in question," he told me.

His eyes wandered towards the bar and I understood that the Jedi was closing the distance. Slightly taken aback by not noticing her presence, I turned to see her slipping past the crowd with feline-like soft steps. Nowadays it was rather rare that she was able to surprise me.

Sandra gave a disapproving look at the two half-empty pints and took a seat by the table.

"So, did you find out how to get a front row seat at the swoop race?" I asked.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: **Please review!


	9. Beasts of Prey

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**A/N: **Wow, I am amazed how many readers this story has gained. :) Thanks for following, faving and especially for reviewing!

I have a ton of stuff reserved for upcoming chapters; certain pieces will finally start falling together, sort of… Getting increasingly AU from now on.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Beasts of Prey<strong>

_Forty hours. _

_...Should be enough. _

_Let's calculate once again:_

_It's a two-hour march to the crash site of the first. Then to the second. Possibly. Need to reserve altogether maybe five hours… The transition, wait for the night. Estimated four hours in the base and back. Probably even quicker. _

_Unless things turn… more challenging. _

_Executing the backup plan takes twenty hours a minimum. This means the Twi'lek girl needs to be located in six hours. Maximum. Or we are walking through the Vulkar front door tomorrow and it is a bloody bad idea. _

Although the current course of action did not exactly glitter with eyesight-blinding splendor in terms of brilliance, the alternatives were even worse. After those two hours we had spent 'negotiating' at the Hidden Beks' base - if the past discussion even could be described in such a positive light - we had walked out with a deal which could be described nothing else than hollow.

_Rather take it or leave it. _

_Hell - if there is a pile of shab in front of me, it does not evolve into something tempting. It's totally friggin independent on the manner it is described. _

But it was a deal nonetheless. Something to work on. Something to…_exploit_.

Yes - the other options had indeed offered quicker ways to commit suicide and Gadon Thek, the leader of the Hidden Beks swoop gang, had known it as well as we had. The main obstacle – and it was a fairly large one to put it lightly - was that only one single way…one possible means of getting to the actual swoop racetrack existed.

Precisely, walking to the exact location where Bastila Shan was about to be presented as a prize by the Black Vulkars gang in less than two days of time was out of question. Bastila Shan's expected position was somewhere near the center of the track, which was an area efficiently separated from the audience by dozens of meters wide pits descending as far down as to the Undercity.

The one way to enter the site without an extensive use of Jedi skills, smoke, firepower and foolhardiness was as a participant. As a racer to one of the swoop gangs.

One competitor per each gang. No exceptions made.

Gadon Thek had offered us the Beks' slot. The opportunity for one from our group to race their swoop bike as the gang's named competitor. Because the offer itself was so tremendously generous that it absolutely made no bloody sense, there obviously was a catch and Thek did not even bother to try to disguise it with finer words.

Sabotage.

That was the prize to pay for the favor: to slip into the base of the Black Vulkars and to…_modify…_their swoop bike in a manner, which could be classified _disadvantageous_. Thek was not interested in the exact details of the '_how'_, but what counted was that as the mildly steered consequence Vulkars' bike was not going to race in perfect condition. The way he rationalized it, he did not want any of his Beks to be imprinted to sharp eyes of the numerous security cameras invigilating the base and hard drives of Vulkar computers. In order to avoid impending retaliation he needed a group whose affiliation was unknown and who could not be connected to Bek gang colors.

How I silently had formulated the message in my mind: we were disposable.

Two soldiers of the Republic and a Jedi Knight far behind enemy lines with not much more to offer than raw muscle and unfamiliar features. Deemed desperate but skillful enough for carrying out actions of these measures.

For a person who used eye-prosthetics to see Thek was amazingly perceptive.

We had walked away with this deal in grim agreement, but it was evident that this was a game of dejarik pinpointed to shift the internal power distribution amongst swoop gangs and the parts of the M'onnoks, the brute force, were designated for us. Washing the dirty laundry, to rephrase it in a not-so-elevating manner.

It was an acceptable role.

It was acceptable only because contrary to the other options, and whether Thek foresaw it or not, this offered room for movement. It offered possibilities. Eventually, only that was needed.

Because one detail was crystal clear. Ultimately there was only a single objective for our group: to gain access to the swoop racetrack, to physically get to this very strictly restricted location near Bastila Shan.

I did not give a kriff about winning the race.

As a matter of fact nor was I planning to start a swoop bike's rumbling engine and test my skills against other racers and not only because we were a group of soldiers and not a bunch of swoop racing experts on some intergalactic tourney. But this was a start.

_The real question is: one is a start, but how to get there two?_

Increasing manpower on the racetrack was the next logical step because not much could be done from the other side of the pit where the audience was seated and that was a fact.

How to succeed in that?

My mind was furiously mapping possibilities and calculating probabilities of potential paths whilst the elevator speeded down almost silently, towards the Undercity of Taris. Shadows of dull anticipation of the upcoming were darkened masks on my companions' features. Stocked up with necessities and a rough understanding of escape pod locations on a datapad containing a map of the area, we were prepared but not eager. No words were exchanged during the ten-minute journey down.

Undercity was a nasty location.

In addition to the limitless horde of Rakghouls, somewhere there was the backdoor to the Black Vulkar base. Somewhere down there was also the young Twi'lek girl who supposedly among the very few knew the way there, Mission Vao.

I had often had the feeling inside my gut that the Force had a sense of humor. Now I was suspecting that it was bending its head back and shamelessly laughing out loud since the exact same blue-skinned Twi'lek teenager had helpfully pointed Sandra towards the Hidden Bek base at Javyar's cantina a few hours back. The last sighting of the girl and her seven-foot tall Wookiee companion had been near this elevator, the duo proceeding down to only Force knew where. According to Thek the two often spent time salvaging in the Undercity area so taking a look at the escape pod crash landing sites was only one sensible guess we had made.

A deceleration in the steady movement indicated the end of the journey before elevator doors opened with a slight creak. We stepped out slowly, hands resting on handles of swords or the rifle, eyes scanning the environment for potential threats.

_Undercity? Not much of a city. _

I thought dryly whilst laying my eyes to the few dozen, clumsy, deplorable constructions defining the habitable perimeter of the lowest layer of Taris. The village was nothing more than discarded materials such as rusted metal sheets and bars fixed together to form something remotely resembling shelters.

This was a dark, sunless, dead world.

In the distance I could perceive shadowy shapes of tall, skyscraper-sized pillars. Those carried the weight of the top plates. Up high, here and there were a few still functional panels shedding vague light. Personally I had no doubt that they were_ not _in the scope of any repair effort…and eventually an eternal darkness would rule over this realm.

Behind the slum village was a ten-meter wall constructed of long metal bars and metal mesh, spiraling barbwire securing the top. It surrounded the area fully, forming the only safe zone available on this level. The sole, lonely sanctuary. Outside hunted the disease materialized: Rakghouls. The beings, which had once walked in human form but now only lived to stalk and prey upon the exact same type of meat they originally had been constructed of.

And if the air of the Lower City had initially seemed thick, this needed a vibrosword to cut through.

The stench was a wall of dampness, mustiness, waste and Death, which invaded my senses with force and I had to press my lips together in order not to grimace in disgust. But I knew that it would not take long before my brain had adjusted itself to the smell and likely, after we were done and riding the lift back up to the Lower City, the local air would seem strangely fresh and light for a while.

The villagers were a sad, pitiful looking lot. If we ever had the intention of moving through the village unnoticed, it was easy to see it shatter.

Although the doors of the lift must have had opened numerous of times after the crashes of Republic escape pods, it had not diminished their fear-flavored curiosity towards strangers the slightest. Their number was probably close to a couple of hundred, all clad in rags, cowered in dirt and suffering from apparent malnutrition.

That equaled to approximately two hundred eyes momentarily directed straight towards us.

…_So much for subtlety. _

A perfect contrast to the environment, the Jedi was like a beacon with her shining red hair and surprisingly yet spotless light brown battle armor.

"Do they still toss people down here?" I enquired quietly between my teeth, revolted of what I saw and not really expecting Sandra to answer.

And she did not; the change in her expression was barely perceptible, but it was there. Pain was breaking through the emerald steel of her eyes. Carth's features were tense, his mouth a thin disgusted line.

_Outcasts and their descendants. Murderers, misfits and their children; forced to live in darkness, starvation and surrounded by flesh-eating mutants. _

Did I feel pity? No. I was not in a position that I could have allowed such emotions sway my thoughts from the essential, the mission. But a portion of me despised the rotten infrastructure of this planet.

…_No strength in foundations so putrid… _

"There's the gate," Onasi said, gesturing towards the distance. "Let's try to ask around if someone has seen the girl before we go through."

I nodded in agreement, noting that after the initial peaked attention most of the villagers were returning to their daily tasks, demeanor submissive and shunning eye contact. Most of.

The bulk of my focus had already locked to the locations of the two outcasts nearing our group. I let my fingers bend around the grip of the blaster. It was more due to an old habit than an actual intuition of nearing danger - since even after evaluating the situation I did not see any.

"Hey! This is our elevator! Nobody uses it without paying the toll!" the taller of the two young men cried out, demandingly. There was a long, rusty, bent metal bar in his hands, which he held up high likely in order to fill his mental definitions for the depictions 'threatening' and 'friggin tough guy'.

"Yeah! Five credits!" the other one shouted supportively, equally thin and dirty as his companion and armed with a crude sword.

_What the kriff? -_

- Lacking the patience of tolerating any forms of delays, I did not hesitate. With one swift and intentionally overt movement I pulled my pistol from its holster and pulled the trigger once. The ground centimeters away from the taller man's feet exploded, sending dust to his shoes. The man took an instinctive stumbling step back and a wordless yelp left his lips.

"Keep your distance!" I commanded sharply, not even bothering to lift the pistol up in order to actually aim anything, but keeping it close to the ready as a pending promise of quick death. Likely the gesture was all that was needed - pursuing any _permanent _solutions related to these scumbacks seemed a bit exaggerated since according to the shock on their faces their self-confidence was already crumbling to pieces before my eyes.

"You two – get out of here, now!"

The woman's shout came behind the men and the two belonging to our fearless-turned-apprehensive welcoming committee seemed almost glad to oblige. She was an outcast just like the men, but judging from the resolute tone of her voice likely holding a position a step higher in their internal hierarchy.

"I apologize."

The woman directed her words to me. She was in her early thirties, hair black and long, clothes a mixture of misshaped rags of leather and cloth. Although looking thin but seemingly healthy, I took note of the slight greyish tint of her very pale skin; all in all, those were features of a person who had never walked under a sun. Probably a second-generation outcast, I concluded.

"Not all of us are accustomed to treating visitors from the top in a polite manner. Welcome to our village. I am Shaleena."

"No harm done," I replied in a neutral manner and holstered the pistol, seeing that it was no longer needed.

"Thank you, Shaleena," Carth said, the look on his face open and approachable. "We are looking for a Twi'lek girl who is usually accompanied by a Wookiee. They rode the lift down here a couple hours back. I wonder if you'd seen where they took off?"

The expression on Shaleena's face lightened.

"Mission Vao!" she exclaimed excitedly. "They come often to our village with Zaalbar. Such a nice girl, brings us goods sometimes…"

As it turned out, the outcast was more than willing to help. I compared the rough trajectory Shaleena gave to the map on the datapad whilst she attempted to drown Onasi with a flood of unnecessary information. The Commander was polite enough to listen.

"If you want anything – just anything - from our village I am sure that Gendar will assist you. He is our leader. …Or…or Rukil Wrinkle-Skin. He is the oldest man in the village and very wise… "

_Escape pod number one. A two-hour march, _I estimated.

"Let's get moving," I suggested dryly, disinterested in spending any more of our precious minutes in this village. I saw Onasi press a credit chip on Shaleena's open palm and we proceeded to move through the village towards the gate.

We did not get far.

The lone shriek that rose up to the heights was almost bone shredding in all the horror it contained. And the fear was there; present, pulsating and trembling like a living beast.

…The agony burning inside lungs with every intake of air…

…The adrenaline circling the system, pushing final drops of strength to muscles that already were pulling beyond their limits…

I blinked, trying to comprehend what my senses were hammered with.

…Emotions… Not mine, I understood, taken aback and slightly shocked by the realization.

"A Rakghoul." Sandra almost whispered the word.

…And we dashed towards the movement by the gate. The screaming woman, her features a twisting mask of fear, clung desperately to the arm of the guard who was pulling the gate closed.

"Please – don't! He will make it - he _will _make it! Run - _Hendar_!"

"It's too late, Hestra!" the guard told her, voice shaking but determined. "We cannot risk the safety of the village!"

The gates closed with a loud clank and the woman collapsed down to her knees as if been physically hit. The wail of agony leaving her lips contained no words.

The two nearing shapes were half a hundred meters away. I held the pistol up, took an aim through the sights and wanted to curse out loud. It was hopeless. I could see it from the running man's enlarged eyes and gaping mouth – how he tried to fill his lungs with air, but how his body had already dozens of steps away met its limits in endurance and speed. The predator only a few meters behind him was closing the distance.

Galloping on all fours and feet-long nails digging to the soft dirt of the ground, it could have been described to move like a giant, muscular hound.

…If the hound in question had been furless, covered only by light grey, slime-oozing skin. And if the hound's head did not comprise of much more than a mouth, which slit it from left to right and revealed a hundred, razor-sharp teeth.

It was a bite poisonous as Hell.

Fear and not logic steering his actions, the man's steps were directed straight towards the gate. Naturally, he was taking the shortest route – an action, which was efficiently dooming him. Due to the lack of any angle, his form covered also the creature, the beast's skin efficiently shielded by his flesh.

But nevertheless I aimed the pistol, let the front sight pole center the rear notch and align with the location of the target.

…The beast had to be slayed. It was a fact and not about to change, independent on whether or not the creature was feeding off the man during the moment when I'd be pulling the trigger.

_Let's see. _

…There was a split second deviation in the rhythm of the hunt. The creature took a quick sidestep, instinctively avoiding irregularities on the ground. Suddenly an opening manifested to the view – I saw a length of grey skin revealed through the sights. My pistol spat out a flying red row of blaster bolts and I could hear Carth reacting in the same manner on my right side.

Red ammo gashed its shoulder and tore the muscle…and it stumbled. But no more than a for couple of leaps were left short – the Rakghoul had not been startled enough to drop the chase. Too overtaken by the hunger, pain was not a factor it could fathom. The distance the man gained to the beast was close to nothing.

"Bloody Hell," I cursed out loud, half-growling and mentally swearing at the mesh of the fence that fragmented the line of sight and the man who unknowingly sabotaged all of his own hopes for savior.

"The window is too small!" Carth shouted, sharing my thoughts. "We'll risk hitting him."

"Aim up."

Those were Sandra's words. Stated with a resolute tone.

…And the Rakghoul lost its momentum right in the middle of a leap. The beast rose screeching up to the air, meters high, gnawing and clawing the invisible hand that held its mass.

…Each and every single swearword I had ever heard in galactic basic, Mando'a and a large number of other languages crossed my mind that instant second…

Our blasters sang with a red, high-pitched note. There was no life left in the smoking corpse filled with dark holes which Sandra released to fall to the dry, yellow dirt. The carcass met the ground not far from the man who had now collapsed due to exhaustion. He was visibly shaking, inhaling and exhaling forced breaths, slowly piecing recent events together – shock yet frozen on his features.

I shook my head from side to side and wanted to grimace. The newly awakened rage was a dark storm within my mind and I had to use every ounce of my willpower not to toss a fairly huge number of blade-edged words towards the Jedi.

_There is no room for this – for mistakes of this caliber. Otherwise we can all just bloody quit and go home. _

Instead I bit the words back, pushed the gate open whilst the guard watched in bewilderment and walked out to the field with a long, enraged stride. The woman dashed past me and soon the couple was a crying, panting mess on the ground.

_Need to perform a friggin amputation to separate those two. _

"That was a wonderful display of skills, Jedi," I spat out when we were an ear's range away from the village. My mood was sour and I did not have high expectations on it improving quickly.

"Dazzling, I might say…memorable."

I did not attempt to hide the black blade of poisonous sarcasm in my voice and the anger and frustration from my demeanor.

"You would have let him die…" Sandra said after a moment's silence, her eyes fixed to my features.

"Without a doubt," I said firmly, not letting the steel abate from my voice.

"I wouldn't have considered it for a second. Way better that than to expose our location to every _bloody_ Dark Jedi traversing the Undercity. Or than to take the risk of our _'helpful friends'_ back there directing a patrol of Sith to our tail."

"How much I'd hate to let the guy die… I think Daraz has a point here," Carth told her, keeping his tone neutral. "It's a Hell of a risk you took, Sandra."

The look on the Jedi's features sharpened.

"My _duty_ as a _Jedi Knight_ is to serve the disadvantaged…it is to defend the weak!"

The tone was openly defensive.

The naïve, ignorant being. What were the few years between us could have been decades.

"_Our_ duty," I said, stressing those words, "Is to find and free Bastila Shan and to ensure her safety. The slayer of Darth Revan, the single most important person of the Republic war effort, they say… It'll get friggin_ complicated_ trying to locate her from a Sith interrogation compartment."

Sandra's steps came to a sudden halt. She heaved out a long sigh.

"All this pain and suffering… It is strong in the Force," she explained quietly, shaking her head and sorrow lingering in her eyes.

"I take it you lived in the Upper City," I stated and saw her nod.

So that was it, then. I often forgot that Sandra was of Tarisian origin due to the fact she mentioned it so rarely. I knew that she had not lived here longer than for the first few years of life. But possibly, although Jedi were instructed to avoid attachments, this place still reminded her of…home, sort of. Which, in turn, made all the suffering she witnessed to stab her at a more personal level than what was suitable.

"I think… I never fully understood what it was like down here. I am...sorry. I acted with…instinct, didn't think," Sandra finally said.

A portion of me resented it – how she of all the people let empathy stand on the way of logic when much more important objectives were at stake.

I wanted to press my hands on her shoulders and shake her to reality.

"Keep your focus on the mission, Jedi," I told her dryly. "Remember what we came here for."

And although I did not say it out loud, I could feel the tension gathering. It was not because of numerous packs of Rakghouls traversing, searching for prey all around us. It was more due to the countless of eyes I - somewhere very deep - knew were watching.

* * *

><p>…<em>There were no guards outside Revan's quarters. There never were any because they were unnecessary. No one – not a single being aboard this vessel would have entered the Dark Lord's personal quarters without his permission. Far more horrendous punishments than death existed aboard the Revenge. <em>

_The Lieutenant inhaled one deep breath before touching the door control. Doors slipped open silently._

_And what he saw was nothing he had expected…_

…

Although years old the memory was as fresh and kicking as if born yesterday.

The Lieutenant knelt beside the escape pod. It was a sorry-looking construction, sunken a half of its height into the dry and yellow, yet soft Undercity ground due to the impact. Externally scratched and bent from its original round shape because of the existing large number of dents on all surfaces, internally it appeared to be in a surprisingly good condition.

…Unlike the other two he had visited.

The Lieutenant was certain: this was the pod of the Jedi. Of the prey.

He did not expect to find her there, no reason to do so.

The ground was soft; clay and sand mixed, and the surface had been long since turned into a cacophony of intersecting imprints. Mostly humanoids; soldiers and vultures attempting to strip the metallic carcass of anything even remotely valuable. Even three-fingered footprints of mutants could be seen crisscrossing the surface. Already days ago it had become impossible to track if a lone human had left the escape pod by walking on her own legs…or if she had been dragged away.

The Lieutenant was placing his bets on the latter alternative.

There were also signs of a more recent struggle, both on the stomped ground and in the sight of a radically mangled corpse of a Gamorrean. Not due to a Jedi. It was missing both of its arms - those appeared to be literally torn off, and the Lieutenant had to wonder silently the nature of the creature the Gamorrean had come across.

But this was not what he had come here for, to ponder the Jedi's suspected location. His designated prey was not what he actually preyed upon…

…Because everything had changed aboard the _Endar Spire. _

It had not been only the skills of the man, which had caught his interest - which had steered him towards the only possible decision.

…Ultimately, it had been something else…

He did not have to dig far into his memories to come to a conclusion that it had been close to two years, now. When his path had been forged right before his eyes.

Two years.

...

…_The room itself was not conspicuous – it was not a room he had expected a Sith Lord to reside in. It was small, not more than twice the size of his. Simple and practical furniture lacked anything reminiscent of luxury. The color scheme followed the exact same shades of grey than his quarters. He saw the form of a bed there on the other side, covers straight and untouched as if never used._

_It was a soldier's room. No question about that. _

_The table on the other side of the room was buried under a number of datapads and panels. Screens were dotted with text and flashed with graphical depictions of movements of the fleet. He was taken aback when he took note of a shape of an empty…wine glass? Due to the lack of space on the surface the foot of the object was crammed between three datapads and it looked seriously out of place. _

_But he could not dwell on that detail for longer than a heartbeat. _

_The transparisteel windows opened towards the convex nose of the Revenge and the infinity, which had lost the dots of illumination and elongated to the wildly glistening lightshow of hyperspace._

_In front of the exact same window stood a man, silently watching out of the windows and observing the repetitious, flashing scenery. His tall body and wide back were covered by a black, hooded cloak, which flowed down his form and reached his ankles. The man carried himself straight, posture upright and pure military. He had crossed his hands over his chest and although hidden behind his form, the Lieutenant knew with certainty that those hands were covered up to elbows with vambraces…dyed with crimson. _

_Red – the color of blood. Black – the darkness he commanded, bent to his will. _

_Darth Revan was standing in front of him. And the still form of the Dark Lord of the Sith did not show any signs…any indication that he had noticed his arrival._

_The Lieutenant swallowed once. It was an empty swallow because uncertainty had begun to spread within his mind. _

_Revan must have been completely cognizant of his presence. That was certain; the man standing in front of him was not a man who was caught unaware. So why the silence? Did the Dark Lord expect the Lieutenant to address him? Had he taken too long to arrive? No – it did not make sense. After receiving the Dark Lord's personal orders he had left his quarters without hesitation and although Revan was known to be strict and demanding, he was also known to be a realist. He was not an unreasonable man. _

_So, the Lieutenant decided to stand silent and let seconds spread into minutes. _

"_Lieutenant," the man's voice suddenly came from somewhere beneath the hood. _

"_Whom do you serve?"_

_It was a simple question, stated with a steady tone, and the Dark Lord expected a simple answer. Yet the Lieutenant had trouble forming one. That voice…it had been…_

"_I have sworn to serve the Sith Empire, Lord Revan," he answered. _

"_Whom do you serve?!" _

_The question was repeated and the tone was more commanding, more demanding. _

_His throat felt dry up. Revan's voice had been unmodified. It had lacked the mechanical, computer-enhanced edge it had always contained. It could only mean…_

_Focus, you idiot! - He scolded himself. _

_There was only one correct answer to the question and, personally, he had no doubt in his mind what it was. He had followed this man during the Mandalorian Wars. He had followed this man to the unknown regions. And he was damn sure to follow this man during what ordeals he was expected to in the future._

"_You, Milord," the Lieutenant replied truthfully. _

_The room sank into a moment's oppressive silence and the Lieutenant did not need to have command over the Force to sense that he was being measured. He was being weighted…and he could not avoid picturing a piece of meat before a predator's gleaming eye. _

"_I sense no lie beneath your words, Lieutenant," the Dark Lord of the Sith stated, tone lacking all emotion. The tall man turned around to face him and the Lieutenant attempted to comprehend what he saw. He let his eyes linger on the crimson, unique chest piece before lifting them towards his face._

_Revan's features were half-hidden by the sharp-edged shadow of the hood, but a portion caught a hint of light. He saw an arc of a lip, a part of a straight nose and pale skin. There was no red-and-black Mandalorian mask covering his face… _

…_A human's face. _

"_I have an assignment for you, Lieutenant. One, which requires great diligence."_

_The lips moved. _

_The Dark Lord let the words hang between them for a while._

"_Tomorrow at oh-five-hundred the fleet will drop out of hyperspace over Iridonia. You will leave the Revenge wearing civilian clothing and in a cruiser which is marked to the Republic register." _

_The tone was monotonous. The Dark Lord walked to the table and picked one of the numerous datapads up. _

"_Your orders are to travel to Coruscant and enlist to the Republic Navy." _

_The Lieutenant was quickly piecing the Dark Lord's words together and noted that his heart rate was up a couple of notches. Revan's lips curved slightly upwards in a form of a smile, which did not reflect joy._

"_You will become my eyes on the other side of the line, Lieutenant."_

"_Yes, Milord." _

_The Lieutenant heard the words leave his lips. _

_He blinked and Revan had closed the distance - he was standing right in front of him and no more the shadow cut the line of sight to his features. The glare of the amber eyes was intense, so fierce that it could have drilled all the way straight into his brain. _

_Yellow, golden eyes. Eyes of a Sith Lord. _

"_That is the official story, Lieutenant. What I am about to tell you next shall stay within the walls of this room."_

_The Dark Lord offered the datapad to him and, stunned, the Lieutenant examined the picture of a young woman – still almost a girl - on the surface… Those were beautiful features, truth to be told, combined with auburn hair and steel grey eyes. _

_Why did this woman be of interest to the Dark Lord of the Sith? _

_Revan seemed to sense his confusion._

"_Like you are my personal weapon…she is a weapon of the Republic. Of the Jedi. Yet blunt and untrained, but a weapon nonetheless."_

_Again the lips curved into a slight, joyless shadow of a smile, but the words were stated with a tone hard and demanding as the bedrock. _

"_I intend to_ acquire_ this particular weapon into my possession. Listen very carefully, Lieutenant Weyron, because I shall not repeat my instructions and I most certainly expect you not to fail."_

The Lieutenant remembered with the utmost clarity the bewilderment in his steps, when he had hurried towards his quarters aboard _the Revenge. _And the new mission was not on the top of the list of items, which had caused his confused state of mind at the time.

Revan always had a plan behind his actions. Always - there were no exceptions.

Why in the Force's sake the Dark Lord had chosen to reveal his features to him?

It did not make sense and the Lieutenant did not have anything even remotely resembling an answer, which he could have offered to himself in order to release his mind from the grasp of the puzzling spiral of questions.

Revan had chosen to hide his features behind the infamous, featureless Mandalorian mask before he had walked to the Mandalorian Wars as the Jedi Knight, as the Revanchist. The Lieutenant had heard rumors of a vow being pledged. A personal commitment taken place.

And as far as he had learned to understand the essence of the Revanchist, the General and the Dark Lord of the Sith, the mask was his face and his symbol. Revan was an enigma, sheer power bound and forged into a man's shape. A force of nature.

Revan was not a man.

…But he was. In fact the Lieutenant had seen glimpses of those features aboard the _Revenge_ more than once… The young, dark-haired human male had usually worn simple Dark Jedi robes and carried one or two lightsabers on his belt. Naturally the Lieutenant had grouped him to the numerous Jedi-turned-Sith walking the hallways and crowding training areas. The _Revenge _enclosed over five thousand people inside its hull and to that amount could be fitted both strangers and familiar faces.

_Frak._

He had even exchanged a few short words with this particular Dark Jedi. Without being aware of with _whom _he had discussed. All these years Revan had walked amongst them whilst rumors had circulated around the shroud of mystery that surrounded the man.

The Dark Lord had not been what he had expected, had he been able to summarize his expectations in a coherent manner. The man carried far less years than the Lieutenant could ever have seriously predicted. This young man, the strategic mastermind – whom he now estimated to be a couple of years younger than himself – had supposedly beaten Mandalore the Ultimate in hand-to-hand combat. He had destroyed the very soul of the Mandalorians. He had forced the Republic on its knees and so close to beg for mercy that an unsaid plea was all that remained.

How old he had been in the beginning of the Revanchist intervention during Mandalorian Wars – even twenty?

And then it all had come to a halt. The Dark Lord had met his own demise. In the hands of a Jedi, a Jedi named Bastila Shan.

_The _Bastila Shan who was right in the core of the personal mission the Lieutenant had received from Revan.

"_You shall report to only me, Trask. I have the greatest confidence over your skills."_

Those were Revan's final words to him. And the sentences said in that room were the orders he had followed. Until the situation had changed so radically that there had been no Revan to report to. But Lieutenant Trask Weyron, also known as Ensign Trask Ulgo at the Republic Navy, had continued to provide the Intel he had originally been requested of. Eventually he had given Darth Malak's Empire the coordinates of the _Endar Spire. _

…_To hide a Jedi hunter amongst the Jedi. That was very Revan, indeed… _

When explosions were shaking the hull of the _Spire _he had been heading to an agreed rendezvous point…and stumbled across a change of plans when he had come face-to-face with a dark barrel of a blaster pistol belonging to a fresh bunkmate he had not even met before. And after getting hold of the initial shock he had continued to play the game...because he wanted to see. In the end he had ended up playing it against Bandon, who well knew who the Lieutenant was, and due to not much more a kriffin' gut feeling. An intuition born of a memory.

As said, it had not been only the skills of the man, which had caught his interest - had steered him towards the only possible decision. Ultimately, it had been something else.

Because in combination with the skills had been the face.

…Features belonging to the _dead man_.

Bastila Shan was his official prey. But he was certain that there were others pursuing the same hunt, apparently using forged Sith IDs to travel between city layers. He believed that they were on this route because Bastila Shan had never left the Undercity by riding the elevator. It was a logical assumption. Likely she had never walked out of the escape pod, either. Which meant that there were other ways out of here.

He reactivated the stealth field generator and shouldered his rifle. Rakghouls or no, this was an excellent location to wait.

He was risking everything because of this and did not even understand what in the wildest and the most bloodiest of Hells was going on... But there was only one way to find out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: **Thanks for reading!

So, yeah. I got this idea back in 2011 when I started writing this story that what if Trask actually was a Sith spy (the infiltrator I've hinted towards)? It never made much sense to me why'd the guy be running back to his own room in the middle of a battle...unless he actually had a reason to go there (and I'm not referring to a 'let's wake up a bunk mate I've never met'-type of a reason). There, he came face-to-face with someone looking exactly like an old master and an amnesiac Revan obviously had no clue then (and wasn't even that impressed). Anyways, I've got something planned for the guy.

Hmm, let's see if the paths of the hunter and the pawn finally cross again… Next chapter will tell. ;)

Reviews are appreciated!


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